The Tears of Kas̆dael

They traveled through the dense fog for hours. A continuous cold drizzle dripped down upon them, slowly soaking most of the group to the bone. Jasper was largely untouched, stoking the fire within from time to time to dry his clothes and warm his core. Still, he too was relieved when they finally stood in front of the city's gates, eager to get aside and find some shelter.

The gates were massive, even larger than those of Gis̆-Izum, and the massive metallic doors rose nearly forty feet up. They were also closed. Worse, the gatehouse was entirely overgrown by a thick blanket of thorny vines that Jasper did not recognize. He scanned the walls, looking for a side door or gap in the wall through which they could enter, but saw no entry point. The expedition came to a halt before the gates, and the Lady called him over.

“Jasper, please burn away the vines.”

He craned his head up at the giant doors and gulped. “Uh, okay. Will Sacred Star work? It’s an explosive spell but-”

Aphora cut him off, and dismounting from her horse, walked toward the gate. “Follow me.”

Jasper hurried to catch up to her, as she began to talk.

“Structured spells have their place, and for many represent the pinnacle of their achievement. But a mage truly worthy of the name should not be limited by the spells in their repertoire. It is in mages that the fires of creation still burn, unlike the grays.”

“Grays?”

She lowered her voice, as she gestured discreetly to the group behind them. “Those who no longer inherit enough life force to do magic. When I was a child, almost everyone - whether they were a noble or commoner, an elf or Corsyth, or any of the myriad other races - almost all of them could do at least a little magic. Great cities like this rose quickly under the power of a thousand mages.”

The elf turned to him, a suspicious moisture lingering around her eyes. “Now the world grows old, and all beings with it. But you seem less affected by it, the power in you less diluted. It reminds me of how it once was."

She waved her hand at the ruins stretching above them. "When mages built this city, they did not use spells from the system. They used unstructured magic, the fires of creation itself."

Aphora frowned as she continued. "Sadly, the folly of their deeds was not fully understood. Unstructured magic - soul magic - is a fundamentally limited resource, and millennia of misuse have weakened it beyond repair."

"When I was young, my mentor explained the concept of soul magic to me using an analogy of inheritance. Think of the Progenitor as a very wealthy man. When he died, he left a rich inheritance to each of his children, the gods. They, in turn, bestowed inheritances on their children, the demigods, monsters, and races they created. With each generation, the inheritance was chipped away at, slightly reduced from what it was."

"Each race, when it was created, received a "trust fund" of soul magic, and each individual, when they are born, receives a small portion of that inheritance. As long as they live, it is theirs to use as they please, whether wisely or foolishly. If they die and have not used the soul magic they received, the magic returns to the storehouse of their race, ready to be inherited by the next generation. But if they spend it all, the inheritance is permanently diminished."

"The inheritances received were so great that it took a long time for anyone to realize that magic was slowly wasting away. And even once they did realize it, most mages were unwilling to restrain themselves. Why should they weaken themselves for the sake of the next generation? The relentless wars that have gripped this continent only exacerbated the issue. The creation of the Sanctums during the Fey wars, understandable though it may have been, wasted thousands of years of magic. Now the empire is paying the price for its excess, as it struggles to repel invaders it could have crushed a few centuries ago."

Aphora paused, and a smile flickered across her lips. "But I seem to have found myself monologuing again. Do you have any questions?"

Jasper paused as he thought about her analogy. "So, if each race has its own inheritance, does that mean some races still have more magic than others?"

She nodded. "That is correct. The dwarven lords, for example, still seem as strong as ever, while the Fey have been greatly weakened."

"And Corsythians used up most of their inheritance creating the Sanctums?"

"Not exactly. Corsythians never had an inheritance in the first place. No god created the Corsythians to bestow an inheritance on them. Instead, you arose from a hundred generations of interbreeding between humans, elves, dwarves, fey, and more. Corsythians inherit their magic from whatever aspect of their lineage is most strongly expressed. Ihra, for example, has received an inheritance from the elves, and you from the Djinn."

"Because of this, many of the races resent your kind. They see you as thieves, a cuckoo bird that lays its egg in the nest of another bird, stealing from their young. But," she glanced over her shoulder, "the group is growing restless, so let us return to the matter at hand."

“You were saved in the forest when your subconscious took control, but you must learn to control these abilities yourself. Mages who let their subconscious take control, sooner or later, will go mad, becoming little more than ravenous beasts driven by the need to kill and feed on the magical energy of others. Most of the so-called mages these days are too weak for this to be a concern, but you are not. Therefore, you need to learn to consciously control unstructured magic.”

Jasper's face darkened as he listened to her words, and he cut in as soon as a break in her speech appeared. “How the hell do you know about what happened in the forest? I certainly didn't tell you.”

Aphora's eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “It's rude to ask people about their heritages. Some might take offense."

She glared at him for a moment, before continuing. "As I was saying, I gave you the diadem for a reason. I know you think it’s girly, but it will help you focus and remain in control. And if you should, Selene forbid, lose control, the spirit of the diadem can hopefully save you. Now, try to meditate, but this time, you need to remain cognizant of your surroundings. Insert yourself into the meditative image. Be the rock, be the water, but also, be you.”

Jasper scowled as she ducked his question, but decided to let it drop. Pissing her off didn't seem like a great idea. Closing his eyes, he easily summoned the image of the peaceful stream, but struggled to maintain awareness of his body. The wind brushed across his face and sounds still reached his ears, but they formed an incomprehensible cacophony. Losing his grasp on the meditation, he shook his head in frustration. “I can’t do it.”

“Try again.”

They stood there for hours, Jasper sinking into meditation time and again, but always failing. As he roused from another failed attempt, he heard the guild crew crumbling

“Just get on with it.”

“The day’s a-wasting.”

“We need to secure a safe place to sleep for the night, and this chucklehead is getting private meditation lessons.”

He flushed, as shame mixed with a dash of anger suffused him. I want this to be over just as much as you guys. He dove back in with a renewed vigor, and this time he felt something different. For a moment, he appeared by the forest stream, his feet dangling in the cool water. With each meditation attempt, Jasper became more adept at inserting himself into the image, which in turn enhanced his awareness of his surroundings.

Finally, Aphora called for him to stop. "Why don't you give it a try now?"

With a satisfied grin, Jasper raised his hands, and with a simple thought, they burst into flames.

“Very good. Now, simply cast the flames in a wall of fire in front of you. Cover the whole gate in a sea of flames, and the thorns will burn.”

With deep calm breaths, he lifted his hands and projected. His whole body burst into flames, spectral wings sprouting from his back as a wave of fire rushed over the thorny vines, vaporizing them in seconds. As the smoke cleared, he was gratified to see that the gate was now free of all obstructions.

Lady Aphora clapped her hands together. “Very good. We shall practice more, but that was satisfactory for your first attempt. Now, I must do my part. Watch what I do carefully.”

The gates, now cleared of the vines, still stood closed. “The gates are sealed with a runic lock,” she explained. “Runic locks must be opened with unstructured magic.” She moved her hands in a slow, methodical pattern. “Each seal is different, but the fundamental key to unlocking them is that each door has a certain number of locks that must be activated with a tendril of magic at the same time. The locks aren’t really a test of magic power - opening them requires no essence spent at all - but of your control over magic. As she spoke, six runes, arranged in a circle that straddled the two doors, lit up. They glowed red for a brief moment, and as the light faded, the gates silently swung open.

The expedition entered, and the guild leader immediately began barking orders. “Ilka, take your team and look for a shelter for the night. Omez,” he fixed his gaze on one of the party who had been grumbling about the delay, “take your crew and see if you can’t find us a source of water. There was a small pond outside the gates, but it would be best if we find can something closer. Everybody, don’t forget - keep your eyes open. The wraiths mostly come out at night, but in this weather they may be out already.”

The groups quickly split off, leaving the rest of the party with the guild leader. Aphora rode over to him. “Remember, the gates will close themselves at the end of the week. Look for what you seek, but if you do not find it, leave.”

The leader scowled. “What we do here is our business. We escorted you here, and now our deal is through. Be gone, elf.”

Her gaze grew frosty. “Perhaps my ears deceived me. What did you say?” An undercurrent of malice sliced through her tone, the threat of violence lingering in the mists.

“Er, the guild has concluded its business with you, Lady Aphora. You are, of course, welcome to return with us to the city if you wish.”

She snorted, but didn't pursue the matter further, riding off into the mists of the city, with Ihra and Jasper nipping at her heels. They did not talk for a while, the silence broken only by the sound of hooves clattering on the smooth stone streets and the occasional whinnies of the ponies. They wound through the streets, leading ever higher into the mountain. The endless rows of abandoned homes, most of which remained in good condition, combined with the silent mists to create an eerie liminality. It was as if the entire city had simply gone out on a picnic, and their return was imminently expected.

Undeterred by the fog, Lady Aphora deftly navigated her way through the twisting streets. The cloudy skies grew dark with the coming night, and the cold, drizzling rain soaked through his clothes, growing steadily harder. Despite the fire within, Jasper found himself shivering a bit, and Ihra’s lips were blue and quaking. Lady Aphora, despite her sheer robes, appeared unfazed by the cold, ignoring the rain that dripped off her silver horns, falling in a steady beat upon her shoulders.

Their objective finally came into view: the second set of gates. Like the first, the gates were sealed and covered in thorns. Jasper and Ihra sidled up beside her, staring at the monumental doors in silence.

“You aren’t traveling with the guild, the guild is traveling with you.” Jasper finally spoke the words he’d been thinking during their long, cold ride. “They can’t unlock the doors on their own. So, why was the guild leader so rude to you?”

She sighed. “The guild is not what it once was, and it eats at them. Most of them have the good sense to be respectful but some, like the expedition leader, cannot escape the anger of their weakness. Every day they wake up in the Sanctum, a world created by magic far beyond anything they could hope to match and are reminded of their own deficiencies. Their weakness is not their fault. It is a fate they’re born to and cannot fight, but the resentment still burns."

“If you, Jasper, should reach your potential, they will resent you too. You would be a bright star in a dying galaxy, a green tree in a scorched forest. But,” she said with a smile, “you should not get ahead of yourself. There may be fewer stars in the sky than there once were, but many still shine. If you ever find your way to the imperial courts or the elven conclaves you will discover that, while the world is dying, it is far from dead.” She waved her hand at the door. “Now, Jasper, time for more practice.”

This time, it only took him a few tries before he achieved success. Great clouds of steam rose from his body, as the fire within rushed forth, pushing back the rain. The thoroughly soaked vines resisted the billowing fire at first, but the heat within could not be denied for long. Bathed in a fiery inferno, the sharp thorns soon crumbled to ash.

Aphora opened the seals quickly, and they entered the second ring of the city. Aphora immediately reined her horse in. “Ihra, see that little building beside the gate? Go inside, and activate the pressure plate.” Ihra disappeared inside the building, and after a few minutes, the doors shut with a shudder. She emerged from the building slowly, and struggled to pull herself back on her horse. Her movements were slow and stiff, and her teeth chattered as Ihra spoke.

“Lady Aphora, can we perhaps find some shelter soon?” The elf's eyes slid over Ihra’s shaking form, and she nodded.

“Very well. There’s a place not far from here where we can rest for the night.” She spurred her horse on, and clattered down the street, the two of them close behind. After a short distance, she turned down a small side street. As they headed down the narrow road, Jasper was surprised to hear a sound - aside from their own - in the silent city. A creaking, groaning noise drifted through the misty street, and Jasper reined in his horse as his eyes scanned for monsters lurking in the shadows.

A peal of laughter erupted from the elf. “Come, Jasper. There’s plenty of monsters in this city, but this is not one of them.” She waved him forward. As he slowly cantered closer to her, the source of the sound emerged through the mists. A waterwheel was slowly turning, driven by a small stream racing down the steep slopes of the city. The waterwheel was attached to a large building that was quite unlike the homes that lined the street. Two large doors were bound with a heavy iron chain. Aphora dismounted and, fishing out a key from her bag, unlocked the chains.

“Bring your horses in. It’s not safe to leave them outside.” The interior of the building was large and spacious, although much of the space was filled with large chests and wooden crates. Aphora led her stag through the abandoned piles towards the back. There, a space had been cleared of crates, and an old fire pit was set up, with a few cots scattered around. Along the wall, a shelf, clearly newer than the warehouse, was stocked with supplies, and beneath it was the splintered wood of some broken-up crates.

Jasper hopped off Dapplegrim, and quickly grabbed some of the broken crates, placing them in the fire pit. After a brief moment of concentration, his hands whooshed with flames as the bonfire crackled to life. Turning around, he saw Ihra still astride her horse, her body curled up to conserve warmth, as shudders wracked her form. She looked at him, a touch of shame on her face. "Do you mind helping me to the fire?"

He ran over to her, and plucking Ihra off the horse, carried her over to the fire. He grabbed some blankets from the shelf and wrapped them around her. Stepping back, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. This was the second time he had failed to notice his party member struggling. With the fire burning within, cold and heat didn’t bother him like they used to, but Ihra didn't have those protections.

While he tended to Ihra, Lady Aphora returned to the doors. She refastened the chains and scattered a powdery substance in front of them. Bending down, she licked her finger and traced an emblem in the powder. A ripple of light passed through it, the air around it growing dark, as if deprived of light, before the emblem faded out of sight. When Aphora returned to the fire, Ihra was already wrapped in a cocoon of blankets as a clearly worried Jasper lurked above her.

She bent down and placed her hand on the girl’s cheek. It was icy cold, but she could feel the heat slowly returning. “She’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Why don’t we prepare supper.”

By the time the food was cooked, Ihra was sitting up, and she greedily gulped down a bowl of steaming stew as the color slowly returned to her lips. The rumbling squeal of the waterwheel, and the steady drum of rain on the roof, filled the silence of the warehouse. The warmth of the fire, the hearty stew, and the patter of the rain provided an almost cozy vibe to their meal, but as Jasper finished the last of his stew, a frown crossed his lips.

“Isn’t this city supposed to be haunted? Ghosts and ghoulies, and all that?”

A wan smile flitted across Aphora’s lips. “The city is mostly quiet in the day, except in its darkest depths and corners. But at night…at night the city revives.” She stared into the fire for a few moments, Jasper waiting for her to continue.

“Get some sleep while you can. The citizens of Als̆arattu will awaken soon enough.”