1 Scion

Mezchinhar was a magical place.

Mezchinhar was also a dreadful place.

With its unearthly light, stuck in the endless nothing, a strange place where no place should be. Unnatural in the context of any universe and yet built in its image. Once when time came into existence, numerous of these places were built, providing shelter for those created to walk through time in a timeless space in the infinite nothing between universes. But many of these places and the universes they cared for were now lost to them – once forgotten, never able to be found again. Quite wondrous and mystical in that regard. The mere idea of the amount of universes and knowledge lost – able to drive the most jaded scholars in Mezchinhar to their knees.

“–therefore, we will grant you the opportunity to once more pass on your knowledge–”

Build on the godly dream of great galactic order. A concept ingrained into them from creation. An idea really, that there could be order brought to the chaotic existence of universal life. A conquest that would first come to a halt when time itself stopped existing.

There was Chaos.

And there was Order.

Only one of them was natural but neither was good or evil.

“–find him most helpful, as he has proven himself exceptionally–”

There was no concept of good and evil native to Mezchinhar. There were no considerations of morals either. There couldn’t be morals without a concept of good and evil. At least that was how it used to be. As they had learned to walk time, learned the meaning of these words, Order and Chaos had been perverted to take meanings that never applied to them in their original form. Chaos was not inherently evil nor was order inherently good. Nor vice versa.

“–implore you to take this opportunity serious–”

Zenozarax blinked lazily, dragging his thoughts from his philosophical musing with a low sigh as his gaze focused back on the wizard speaking to him since an eternity. A wizard with a name Zenozarax didn’t bother to remember but probably should based on the fact they hadn’t been reintroduced. A wizard as bland as the rest of this place. Static, safe and boring. He was positive that his words were of great importance, at least the determined look on the wizard’s face would suggest so, but he just spoke without saying anything of note.

Hence he had seen no reason to listen. But he had done so for long enough now.

“If you want to get someone to keep an eye on me, why don’t you just say so?” he asked with an utterly unimpressed look on his face and a flick of his hand that made the wizards of the committee flinch and fluster as he just cut them off mid sentence.

“Zenozarax, we assure you that this is not the reason, nor the purpose of this Scion. We know you prefer to keep to yourself, we just want to give you a chance to connect with someone at your side again.”

“How kind of you. Thank you.” He smiled, the sarcasm was so badly hidden that his tone wouldn’t pass as genuine thanks even if one tried to hear it that way. Of course, no matter what they said, the Circle wanted to have their eyes on him, and this was sure one way of getting that. And really, Zenozarax did not particularly care. He would take in this Scion, he would be decent to them because the young wizard probably had no idea what they were really used for, and he would put up with it till he could send them on their merry way again and call it a successful education. No harm done, the peace kept.

And there people called him a contrarian.

“You will meet him outside, he is already waiting for you.” They ignored the sarcasm if they even bothered to acknowledge it in the first place. Zenozarax nodded. All as expected.

A couple of decades, maybe a hundred years, to get back to form a young mind didn’t sound too bad. It might make for a welcome change. A chance to do it right this time, too.

These wizards may talk a lot of empty air but in one regard they had been right – he had kept to himself for a very long time. Truly alone and suffering for it, by his own choice no less. It was the reason he actually had even considered this request seriously. He wasn’t as jaded as to doubt some company to talk freely with might do him some good. Especially of the kind that, maybe, wasn’t yet fully indoctrinated by ohh–great–galactic–order. They wouldn’t be able to fill the void the loss of his Warrior had left, but it would be at least something. Someone.

Some not very heartfelt goodbyes were exchanged before Zenozarax left the committee room and even if the wizard wouldn’t have been the only one standing and waiting in the empty hallway, he would have stood out like a sore thumb as exactly the young wizard he was. A young wizard who had probably never in his life, may it been already several hundred or thousand years long, set foot outside of Mezchinhar.

His wishful optimism faltered a bit as he saw how stoically stiff the young wizard stood before him, greeting him. He literally stood to attention, and Zenozarax could have sworn he had almost saluted him. It would have been amusing if only it wouldn’t remind him of his Warrior. Something he really didn’t need any additional reminders of.

“Grand Wizard Zenozarax. My name is Ravalor. It’s an honour to be assigned your student.”

He mustered the young wizard named Ravalor from head to toe. The stark lack of style was expected, the black robe nothing but functional, the blue cloak volumeless and hanging down sadly from the tall and thin frame. Mezchinhar had its way to wither away any sense of the dramatic before it could even take root in these young wizards.

A stoic gaze in the black eyes and not a shred of nervousness, the posture ridiculously straight and proper, downright militarily. The tone of voice; calm and respectful. At least this young wizard seemed already well adjusted to walking in his probably first additional part. That was if it was his first.

Zenozarax, feeling a particularly weird sense of déjà-vu (weird because wizards usually didn’t have déjà-vus), frowned lightly. “Did we meet before?” he asked as he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen the face somewhere already. He was downright sure of it. Only briefly, but somewhere. But if he had he would remember it!

“No, Sire. Not that I’m aware of,” Ravalor said almost wistful and Zenozarax understood why when he added, “Though before I became who I am now, I had been a soldier at Funnix. As I’ve read, you had been the commanding officer at that battle.”

Funnix, of all cursed places, but at least it explained his own faulty memory. Many wizards had lost a part of their life in that battle – he had been one of them. The ridiculous irony was not lost on him that they both might have met and interacted before, but neither could remember it.

“Indeed,” Zenozarax answered, quite able to relate to the sense of discomfort of considering an existence that preceded one’s self and not having any recollection of it. He saw it clearly in Ravalor’s face. Knowing that at one point, he had been considered not more than a tool, an effective drone, but with no given agency.

Well, either way, this wasn’t the time to consider the soldiers fighting their wars nor ponder over past battles. Whether or not they had met before was of no relevance either, because Ravalor wasn’t who he had been back then. Back then he would have been nobody. Now he was his student and that was all there was to it.

And they had a lot of work to do if he ever was to get this ridiculous stiffness out of the young wizard. Zenozarax sighed and almost felt sorry for the puzzled look of worry in Ravalor’s face.

“Is there a problem, Sire?”

“No. Follow me, and listen. A few rules here to make this work. Are you listening?”

“Of course, Sire.” Ravalor quickly walked after him.

“First of all, drop the Sire or I’ll flay you alive. You’ll get only one warning!”

“Noted.”

They were in full stride when Zenozarax effortlessly opened the portal before them and they promptly passed through it. Behind them an alarm blared as he didn’t bother to reach any official portpoint. He ignored that, well aware that he’d get an angry letter and reprimand about that later.

“Secondly, think before you speak, and if you do, speak true or be quiet.”

They arrived in the wizard tower momentarily. The staggeringly stark difference to Mezchinhar’s cold, distant design was the first thing that took the young wizard by surprise. His first look of earth, and he almost stumbled as his eyes darted around the hall they just entered, fully taken by its rustic charm that weaved in seamlessly with the magical architecture of the wizards of yore. The light was warm and inviting, wood, metal, stone, gold and splendor catching the light of fixtures and panels, their steps softened by a dark magnificently woven carpet that spread the entire hall. When Zenozarax spoke again his voice no longer echoed from the bare walls of Mezchinar, but lost itself in heavy drapery and between pillars reaching three stories tall.

“Welcome to Artlenburg. Are you still listening?”

“Yes! Of course. Speak true or be quiet,” Ravalor quickly repeated, catching back up to him. “Artlenburg? We’re not in Kaltenmoor?”

“I had to move. As an addendum to point two, be sure to speak your mind. I’m your teacher now by title, but I’m not your master, I’m not your lord, you’re not my servant. If you can’t voice your own opinions, I have no use for you and you can turn around right now.”

“Understood. Move, why?”

“That is not important now.” Zenozarax stopped in his tracks, turning around, Ravalor almost walked straight into him. And at that moment Zenozarax saw that this student of his was not shaken by the tone nor words directed at him, on the contrary, he seemed almost satisfied. Maybe this could really work. Maybe he wasn’t as bland as his first impression had led him to believe.

“Alright. Is there a point three?”

“Yes.” Zenozarax squinted downright suspiciously at him. “Thirdly: What is your opinion on Unicorns?”

“Unicorns, sire?”

Zenozarax raised his finger before the young wizard’s face.

“That was it, your first and only warning!”

2 Pillory

They reached the market square and were greeted with a mob of people. The working man and woman gladly took the chance to let the fields rest and chores undone for a short while to find some easy entertainment in the town’s center. Curious eyes glanced from the windows around, and chatter filled the air.

The crowd was rowdy, ecstatically so as justice was being served. Those that spotted the man they called the Wizard of Kaltenmoor and the stranger seen so frequently with him as of late, stepped respectfully aside, before focusing back on the center of the square. The wizard had been in Artlenburg for a while now, but names given usually were hard to get rid of and Kaltenmoor was close enough that people understood and remembered where it came from.  

It was rare that the presence of a wizard was mostly ignored by the common folk, especially the royal and wonderful appearance of Zenozarax, so curiously Ravalor tried to spot what the commotion was all about as they approached. He was taller than most people here, and over the heads of the peasants, he saw a man standing in the pillory. A pitiful display of a broken man who once must have stood high and proud, his body that of a man used to hard work, but whatever strength he once might have possessed had vanished behind teary eyes and unkempt hair.

Quiet for a moment, they stopped, and just witnessed the display of shame on the man while his crime was still told to the masses.

Calmly he watched the constable who had spoken the sentence leave the man to the people’s mercy. Ravalor had barely listened to what he was accused of and, frankly, it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t even flinch when the first thing was thrown at the man who could only pull a face and try to move his head the centimetres to one or the other side to avoid the incoming projectiles.

He glanced back at Zenozarax, and he was surprised to see a slim smile on his face.

“Does this amuse you?”

“In a way,” the old wizard said, almost cheerful, tilting his head a bit as he considered his words. “With their kings and capitals, gods and churches – it’s all very orderly, is it not? But you only need to pick at the curtain, just lift it a finger’s width, and they still very much enjoy throwing rotten fruits at each other because the other was mean to them.”

There was equal parts pity and a strange sense of affection in those words, neither of which Ravalor could yet relate to. Maybe he was still too young for that after all. Once again he noticed the curious glances of the humans near them, as they spoke in a language they couldn’t understand – and when they met his gaze they more often than not quickly looked away again. Not all eyes were friendly, but that also didn’t matter to him.

He looked back at the man in the pillory. Foul garden products had not been all that had been thrown at him, a thin trail of blood was dripping from a nasty gash on his temple. If it ended here the man should consider himself lucky, whatever hit him there might as well could have killed him by accident.

“This is order,” Zenozarax said, continuing his musings. “If you do something bad, something bad will be done to you. What do you think? Is that right?”

Ravalor looked back at his teacher, frowning slightly. “It is justice. The agreed–upon moral code of this land – there is no right or wrong here for us to judge. It just is.”

Zenozarax chuckled. “Oh, you’re getting too good at avoiding a decisive answer. You’ll become such a pain in the ass to deal with.”

“Excuse me?” Ravalor frowned, but his frown softened at the other wizard’s smile. Of course, he was joking, but maybe not as much as would be appropriate.

“Come now, promising Scion of mine, let us not linger with these worldly quarrels, but search out the mystical place of learning we are destined to return to!”

Ravalor rolled his eyes but could not help a slim smile as he followed the dramatic wizard off on his grand speech how they were on their absolutely unspectacular and normal way to the wizard tower beneath Artlenburg, basking in his student’s attention. At times he had the feeling that was his sole reason for being here, to pay him the attention he sought.

Zenozarax’ reputation had preceded him and Ravalor had been taken aside more than once after he had uttered his particular preferred choice of teacher. And it had always been the same song. Praising Zenozarax for his abilities and accomplishments in the past, but always ending with words of caution and suspicion, as most seemed convinced he was untrustworthy after what happened at Funnix.

But in all honesty, Zenozarax was a great many things, but hard to read and understand he was not.

“Do you know him? The man at the pillory?”

“Oh, yes, Lawrence? The former smith, good company if you keep the drink from his hand. Since his wife died and the smithy burned down, he’s become quite insufferable when drunk,” Zenozarax answered freely, adding with a click of the tongue, “I’m not surprised he ended up there. He had it coming.”

Ravalor nodded. The concepts of grief, anger and regret were not foreign to him, even though they were still just theoretical ideas he understood on a technical level. He would be, of course, quite capable of feeling these sensations himself, however, so far he had no reason for it. He had simply not found anything yet to put this great of a value on as to grief its loss when taken. So for now he could only observe with mild interest their effects on the human mind and how drastically it could shape their actions.

“It was his own fault, really. Lawrence, I said, I’m a wizard, not a god damn veterinarian, but no, just looked at me like I’m speaking Halein.”

“In what context?”

“His horse! It was sick. He asked me to look at it, like I’m some kind of witch doctor. Told him to put it down but, oh no, he couldn’t afford to, he needed it, the same old song. Thing went wild a few days later, kicked his wife straight in the chest and she dies, he’s a mess, is drunk and, wouldn’t you know it, somehow manages to blow up his own forge.” Zenozarax’s hands went wide as if he had just finished a stage play, presenting before the audience as he ended his tale. “And why? Because he didn’t listen to me.”

Ravalor nodded in quiet understanding, he felt a faint sense of sympathy for the man, but not enough to occupy much of his thought. It was, after all, inconsequential to him. Instead he was merely slightly amused over Zenozarax’ almost theatrical way of expressing himself, and the rashness of his words.

Based on only the short time he had now spent with Zenozarax he did already understand how some might found him abrasive. But the untrustworthiness other wizards spoke of Ravalor hadn’t seen any proof of yet. If anything Zenozarax was exhaustingly honest, always saying exactly what was on his mind. If he wanted to say or do something, he would. And he would do so without thinking too long about it.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how this may have caused Zenozarax some troubles in the past.

They had left the busy main road and Ravalor followed the other along the narrow path between two houses. Soon they reached a small courtyard which they entered through an iron gate. The two wings displaying the masterfully smithed sigil of the unicorn. And now Ravalor wondered if they had been crafted by the same man he had seen put to shame moments earlier.

The courtyard, more of a small garden, was all there was. There wasn’t another door or path out of here. But it was away from any curious human eye. A courtesy really, to not unsettle the people of Artlenburg with them appearing or disappearing in front of their eyes.

“What happened to the tower in Kaltenmoor?” Ravalor asked as he closed the gate behind them.

Zenozarax shot him a glare that seemed to want to set him aflame. “Nothing happened to the tower, the tower is right here.”

Ravalor watched Zenozarax open a portal. “You moved the entire structure?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There was… a containment breach...of sorts.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“Absolutely not. Just thinking about it frustrates me.” Zenozarax said briskly and Ravalor knew that tone already well enough and decided to postpone further inquiry into the topic for now.

Just moments later they both stepped onto the smooth floor of the tower’s entrance hall. The portal behind them closed and with that the tower beneath Artlenburg was again almost completely cut off from the outside world.

Buried deep beneath the town it was impossible to reach for any human – well, nearly impossible. Ravalor knew there was only one natural, not magical way inside the tower.

And that was through the ancient tunnels.

3 Tunnels

In the eerie cold shine of the magical light following them over their heads, they walked through the darkness of the ancient tunnels.

Ravalor’s eyes were drawn in peak interest to the murals appearing in the light, reading its stories and appreciating the sheer scale of the structure they were passing through. In the dim light the tunnel’s ceiling was shrouded in darkness, only the walls seemed to stretch endlessly before them, chiseled directly into the stone in perfect angular geometry. The other half of his attention was dedicated to Zenozarax who told him about the tunnels.

You can go from the tower directly to most of the main cities for example, however, these tunnels precede most if not all of the structures above ground. Not all ways will seem logical. Not all will have a destination. They are like veins under the land, weaving over and under each other with an almost organic randomness to it.

How far do they spread? Ravalor asked, taking his eyes from the architecture, looking at Zenozarax who shrugged slightly.

The dwarves have marked ways from here all the way to Brema. A wizard has once claimed to have found a way even to Wittenmoor. But that one has not yet proven true and the wizard in question did not find his way back – though of course he could port back. Humans tend to get lost down here – if you leave the beaten path you will stumble over some skeletons sooner rather than later.

Shouldn’t the dwarves have maps of these tunnels?

Some. But most of these tunnels are even older than their oldest records.

They haven’t built them?

Maybe they did, some ancient predecessors of them that were here before we arrived, but if they did that memory has been lost. But they’ve sure made use of them. Prettied them up some too, leaving their mark, Zenozarax said appreciatively, nodding to the murals. But you can find tunnels deep within that are barren of any artistic touch. Much deeper ones, too.

With how long we’ve been here one would think we’d have mapped these out by now. Ravalor mumbled more to himself and Zenozarax scoffed.

Feel free to.

Ravalor did understand the dismissive tone and really his question as to why there was no map wasn’t really a mystery. It didn’t lack them in time, but incentive. They were wizards, every place they wanted to go a mere portal jump away. They had no need for structures like this. But still.

“It is one thing to read about these things, but once you actually see them you start actually questioning the history behind it. I knew these to be here, but I never really thought about their origin. Nor the scale,” Ravalor admitted. “But isn’t it a bit risky to just be able to walk into the tower through here?”

Zenozarax gave a disgruntled grunt that made Ravalor raise his brows in amusement.

“What?”

“It is. People rarely wander around down here, but – that is what happened in Kaltenmoor actually. Damn dwarven caravan strolled right into my cellar, almost stole half of what was in it, did drink half my wine and got rowdy when I finally threw them out by threat of fiery death. And lo, before I knew it there were peasants just showing up whenever they felt like it. It was infuriating.”

Ravalor smiled as the mysterious move of the tower was unexpectedly revealed as a mere inconvenience. “And here I thought you’re a man of the people.”

“Sure. When I go to them. Not when they pester me in my tower! For crying out loud, there were entire groups of pilgrims just squatting in my basement at some point, carting their sick with boils and pestilence into my beautiful tower! The livestock was the worst, oh you can’t imagine the stench. Should have thrown that entire dwarven caravan into the sun when I had the chance. But no. No, foolish old me thought bribing them to keep quiet would do. Taught me, that. Next person showing up at my tower unannounced get’s spaced!”

Ravalor just listened to his teacher talking himself into a frenzy with a light smile.

They continued their path for a while, then, when he was sure Zenozarax’ irritation over the memory of the Kaltenmoor incident had calmed down, Ravalor said, “I’ve wanted to ask you about the battle at Funnix. But I’m not sure it’s appropriate to do so.”

Zenozarax scoffed. “Appropriate. If I ever hear you use that word in my presence again I’m throwing you out.” Then he frowned slightly, despite his strong stance on appropriateness, it was a topic he would actually rather avoid. But he said, “What about Funnix? Besides words written somewhere that battle should hold no significance to you.” His tone may have been a bit harsher than he would have intended it to be.

Zenozarax met Ravalor’s eyes and he saw that he quite well took the hint, and blatantly chose to ignore it. I’ve been looking at some of the transcriptions available to me and was puzzled by how little information there was.

I told you not to lie. As if you hadn’t done that the moment you must have figured out where your origin lay.

I did not specify when, did I?

At that Zenozarax smirked lopsidedly. His weak attempt to dodge the topic had failed miserably. Very well. What’s the question?

As it is recorded, the battle was won, however, the circumstances were questionable, to put it mildly, and the losses excessive, almost absolute.

“Ravalor, if you want to ask me what happened there, or to the Soldier you used to be, I don’t know. You know, that I don’t know. Nobody really does.”

“Yes, I do know that. But, do you really remember nothing?” Ravalor watched him now with the same curious intensity he looked at everything that intrigued his interest. Zenozarax hadn’t expected to become the subject of his studies himself – how very flattering. Briskly he said,

“The chaos disrupted the very foundation our communication is built on. We were completely cut off.”

“But were you?” Ravalor dug in deeper. “I’ve read accounts of wizards recalling… feelings, sensations. Not memories per se, but impressions, from the warriors, that might have made it through the interference.”

A sour feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. Ravalor’s questions were just asked in genuine curiosity, but it reminded him too much of the ordeal that had followed that dreadful battle.

“You’ve read what happened, so I know that I’ve been prodded and poked with these questions extensively afterwards. Believe me Ravalor, there is nothing beyond what’s in the report.”

How very hypocritical of him. Scolding Ravalor for a lie that hadn’t been one while he himself bent the truth. It was true that he really didn’t know what happened, but another truth was that the report wasn’t telling all. Especially not to a wizard so young and low in rank as Ravalor.

The extent to which his loyalty had been tested, the few vague impressions, as Ravalor called them, ripped straight from his brain, that information only the Grand Wizards were privileged to see. Maybe Ravalor suspected as much. And also that Zenozarax was keeping something from him. At least that was the expression Zenozarax could read clearly in the dark eyes. A sharp one this one. And it probably didn’t help that he knew himself to be a dreadful liar. Ravalor didn’t even say anything and yet this silent questioning of his words was irritating him to no end.

Zenozarax stopped in their little walk through the tunnels and Ravalor followed suit, turning towards him. His young student wasn’t taken aback by the frown on his teacher’s face.

“What do you expect to find out? If I tell you that, alright, I actually do remember something, or at least I think I do. Nothing more than a faint sensation of absolute dread, probably in the face of certain death. If I go so far to tell you that I think I remember a sensation of desperation? What does it do but shape the view you have of me to a less flattering one?”

“I don’t think it would do that,” Ravalor said calmly, but with an undeniable gleam in his eye over having been right in his assumption afterall. “The circumstances were extraordinary. I do believe a great many wizards faced mortality in that battle for the first time.”

Zenozarax met Ravalor’s eyes. There was no stopping him.

“The more curious it seems to me that since the loss of your Warrior in that battle, you have not been whole. You’re alone. Which seems quite risky to me so I am wondering if this decision has anything to do with these–”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Zenozarax turned, starting to walk again, heading back to the tower. Ravalor had to hasten his steps to catch back up with him. But he didn’t keep quiet. He usually was so good at that.

“It isn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable,”

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m irritated.”

“But I do find this subject absolutely fascinating. And I do also wonder–” Ravalor paused for a short moment, considering his words. “If it’s at all comparable to what I’m experiencing.”

At that Zenozarax finally looked, even when only briefly, back at Ravalor, his steps slowing down just a bit, his frown softened. “What do you mean?”

“From what I gathered, who I’d been before may have survived the battle in some capacity. The Soldier’s designation however was listed under damages. But I don’t remember anything about it.”

“Who knows how many battles he’s been at. He was returned to draft point, nothing unusual about that.

“Yes of course, I do know that, too. Ravalor nodded. But at some point, it was decided to make him a wizard. And even though I shouldn’t have any recollections of the Soldier I’m almost certain that I do. As I said, no memories, but impressions. And it’s just that one, Funnix, none of the others before. Of course, I’m not the Soldier, but he’s still there, and he will become my Warrior one day – and I’m curious to see if that would strengthen this – feeling I have.

Zenozarax would believe it. After all, hadn’t that been the first impression he had of the young wizard. That he was still that Soldier somewhere inside of him. Ravalor continued on his thoughts,

Do we really lose those memories once we had them or are they still there, existing and not existing at the same time? Just that, when we try to see them, they are not there each time. Are we just looking incorrectly? Does the fact that one wizard sharing one singular consciousness within several parts entangle ourselves across dimensions beyond what we are aware of?

Seems you found your topic for your Masterium, Zenozarax said dryly, not wanting to dampen the curiosity, but exhausted of the topic. A topic many great wizards had pondered over already with a lot of research behind it – but he was being an awful teacher right about now. “But I think you’re reading too much into it.”

“Says the wizard religiously reading prophecies each morning.” Dry sarcasm slipped through Ravalor’s collected composure. That was happening more and more often as of late. A dry comment here, a sarcastic quip there, never mean spirited, though often terribly judgmental, but nevertheless refreshingly honest. It suited him.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Zenozarax frowned but he was relieved that Ravalor wasn’t taking his dismissal too hard. “Let’s not talk about this any longer, It tires me.”

“As you wish.” Ravalor said with a nod and the unshakable certainty and patience of a wizard knowing that he had an eternity left to find the answers to his questions. And Zenozarax smiled lightly.

4 Emporium

The very moment he followed Zenozarax through the portal, Ravalor felt like his every sense was violently assaulted and he staggered almost as he tried to keep up with his teacher’s confident stride.

It was obvious that none of this was new to the old wizard, but Ravalor–

He took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as he felt the heavy smell filling his nose, his lungs, even his mouth as he could literally taste the oppressing smell. And it wasn’t any-one bad smell, it was all of it. There was rust, metal, iron – images of human blood came to mind and he doubted it was very unlikely here – but then there was also a flowery sickly sweet note mixed in with harsh herbal tones, a mouldy, woody underline and through all that a biting chemical stink barely covering the sweat and grime of the mass of people and creatures Zenozarax now led him through.

And they not only smelled, they were also loud. He had been to markets before, but Earth was peaceful and its civilization young. This wasn’t earth. Above the voices and shouting droned music and announcements over rustic speakers, shouting into the deaf masses. At least Ravalor couldn’t understand how anyone could bear this onslaught of noise any other way but deaf.

The verbal advertisements were accompanied by bright signs and flickering panels, a rainbow of bright colours drenching the world in a diffuse haze that hung in the smoke and steam above the people, almost able to cover up the muck below. It was such a dizzying, overwhelming difference to the mediaeval slowness of Earth and the sterile peace of Mezchinhar he was used to that he barely perceived any of it.

There was laughing, shouting, somewhere he thought he heard a scream, that blasted music droning in his ears, the low hanging polluted air burning in his eyes. More than once a shoulder or elbow tackled him mindlessly from the side, making him flinch away, as people passed him and desperately he tried not to lose the other wizard.

And between all that, he was still marvelling at the fact that this tightly packed crowd of people really made him extremely uncomfortable. Maybe going so far to say that he hated it. Which was a novel sensation.

Ravalor tried to focus his mind more on the perfectly calm and quietly uneventful memories he received from his Wizard in Mezchinhar, but even that barely helped as the Wizard too was in turn overwhelmed by the memories of this place.

Zenozarax!

Only by a miracle it seemed possible that the other had heard him and halted, turning towards him, a questioning frown on his brows. The question he didn’t need to ask was obviously as to why Ravalor would want to stop right here.

Ravalor didn’t. But he also feared he would lose himself in the crowd should Zenozarax not slow down. Ravalor had not yet found the words to convey these thoughts, still distracted by the sensational overload, as he saw the expression in Zenozarax’ face shift.

Are you alright? Zenozarax asked, stepping closer to him so he didn’t have to shout against the noise.

Ravalor swallowed hard and nodded.

You don’t look alright. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it, this must be overwhelming.

A bit, Ravalor admitted.

Come. We’re almost there. It’s quiet there. Unexpectedly Zenozarax took him by his arm, he flinched briefly, but then let Zenozarax drag him further through the crowd, no longer following the path straight down but diverging to the side.

They left what must have been the main road and were swallowed by the darkness of the sidestreets. The street was still packed with people at first, but the noise did become more muffled.

After a while, there were fewer people too. Only the smell stayed as strong as before.

You get used to it, Zenozarax said as he let go of Ravalor’s arm.

I very much doubt that, Ravalor muttered, unconsciously rubbing the very spot Zenozarax hand had been moments ago. Still trying to wrap his head around the nonchalant way Zenozarax had grabbed him as if it was nothing. Probably like a human would, but not a wizard.

Come now, I like this place. It has some charm.

Ravalor just gave a low grumble of disapproval at which Zenozarax smiled lopsidedly at him.

But I do admit, this place doesn’t suit you well. Don’t worry, we won’t be staying long.

We should have ported right here. Ravalor just said almost sulky and Zenozarax chuckled.

Listen, I’m the first to bend some rules but don’t mess with traffic regulations. Just wait, port enough times straight into a human’s house and soon they will put up laws like this, too. I know, don’t say it, ridiculous, I know.

Ravalor had not been about to say it but he let Zenozarax talk, merely listening. It was rather calming.

Ravalor followed Zenozarax past another corner and somewhere they seemed to pass from street to interior but there never had been any kind of doorway signalling the change. Just suddenly they stood in the middle of an emporium, the sickly sweet scent all the stronger here but it was almost disturbingly quiet now. It was jarring as Ravalor still felt the afterimage of the noises outside clear in his memories.

He took a deep breath, daring finally to take his eyes from Zenozarax who seemed to search the emporium with his eyes himself. Undoubtedly looking for the owner or shopkeeper.

Cramped hallways lead from the room in all directions and only a second glance revealed that they weren’t hallways in the first place, just paths carved between boxes and merchandise. It was even darker here then it had been in the alleyway they just left, industrial lights once cold had turned yellow by time and hung weakly in the dust and smoke.

Seems like nobody’s here? he finally whispered but Zenozarax mildly shook his head.

Patience. Why don’t you look around a bit? See if something catches your interest? Zenozarax suggested displaying only an air of absolute calm. Ravalor assumed he had an appointment with whomever they now waited for, but if so, being made to wait didn’t seem to bother Zenozarax.

Ravalor did as suggested and hesitatingly made a few steps through the room, navigating carefully around unstable looking towers of ... stuff. That was the only word that really fit. He tried to find a throughline to the things around him but found none. Between antiques and fabrics stood sacks with stones and ores, one a shelf that was as high as the ceiling where bars of various metals, books, vases, a bowl of purplish fruits or vegetables he actually didn’t know. In between lay tools and mechanics, some small lifeless demon constructions, terminals and there was an entire box full of AV–Compensators of varying resistor strengths. Half of them looked broken though. Another shelf, so full it seemed already tilting forward. On the lower shelves, he saw boxes with heavy closings, the writing on it was familiar to him but ancient. If the label was correct these should contain some fairly outdated laser pistols.

He kneeled down but saw that the box was held shut with a heavy lock before he even tried to open it.

“This is from Mezchinhar?” he glanced at Zenozarax.

“Probably at some point. But lords only know where all this comes from. I don’t want to know, and neither should you.” Zenozarax answered nonchalantly, and Ravalor took it as a hint that even if there was some questionable business happening here, this was not the time nor place to actually question it. He stood up again and his eyes fell on a set of cards. Collectors cards, seemingly dedicated to a sport of some sort.

So much he saw here was novel to him, not in theory, after having studied time and life for half an eternity already, he could put a name and picture to most objects of evolution and civilization. But as Earth was his first planet to visit and its civilization was still very young, something like this, simple trading cards, were strangely captivating. He wasn’t surprised that these cards seemed to have human origin based on pictures and language. He did wonder though where they came from – or when, as they seemed too old–fashioned for this civilisation. He was about to pick one of them up to look for a year on it but before he could Zenozarax said,

“You break it, you buy it.”

Ravalor’s hand twitched back. “Excuse me?” he met Zenozarax eyes and the smirk below it.

“Keep looking but better keep your hands to yourself. Don’t want you to catch galvanize–fever or a stray curse.”

Nervously he glanced back at the perfectly harmless–looking cards but stepped away from the shelf to join Zenozarax again.

Why are these here? He had strayed off from his direct path back to his teacher when something in a side table caught his eye. These are Mem–Tests aren’t they? He recognized the small devices, not larger than a thumbnail. And true enough, Mezchinhar’s writing was all over them. They were usually used in the creation of a new wizard or part.

Especially do not touch those, Zenozarax warned but where his words carried a certain urgency his face showed only amusement. Those do not do what you think they do.

Ravalor had no intention of touching anything in this room, not after the first warning, but there was a certain undeniable curiosity. What do they do then?

Some neural nonsense. They are like small self–contained curses, small constructs, they will fuck you up for a while before self–terminating. Hopefully. Zenozarax waved his hand as to underline that it was just nonsense. Some wizards like them. But I for once find them quite unpleasant. It’s like giving up control over your own mind to something else. Should you ever be tempted – just make sure to check them first before letting them run wild in that pretty head of yours. Yet better, construct your own. It’s not that hard. He paused, casually crossing his arms before he almost begrudgingly added, As your teacher, I do feel obligated at this point to remind you that either way, tampering with your mind is a bad idea and you shouldn’t do it.

Ravalor glanced back at the table, his brows slightly raised. It would seem quite risky.

It is. That’s why you won’t hear much of it in Mezchinhar. There’s this cautionary tale though – allegedly something about a wizard once who jettisoned himself straight into a star after using one of these. He lowered his head in almost convincing sympathy. You must have heard that one – these stories usually go through the dorms like wildfire.

No. Ravalor just slightly shook his head, looking back briefly at the merchandise I kept mostly to my own.

Good riddance.

Ravalor mustered him for a moment. It had been a while already since they had arrived in here – and yet Zenozarax seemed perfectly content just watching him explore.

“How long do you think we will be waiting?” he asked, finally joining back up with the other, feeling a distinct restlessness that Zenozarax seemed to utterly lack.

“I don’t know, how long are we already?”

“17 minutes and a half.”

For someone he had learned to be as impulsive and abrasive as Zenozarax was, this display of patience always seemed off wouldn’t there be a perfectly logical explanation. Ravalor sometimes envied Zenozarax’ utter lack of any sense of time. The desired effect of doing what he just had told Ravalor one shouldn’t do; tampering with one’s own mind. Ravalor would consider himself rather patient, but it couldn’t come close to the level Zenozarax could display. But was it really patience if one didn’t realise how much time was actually passing?

“Ah.” Zenozarax just shrugged lightly, and with that, the topic seemed dealt with and Ravalor’s question still left unanswered.

“Ah indeed. That must be your Scion, is it not? It is good to finally meet him.”

The unexpected voice took both their attention and they turned to see the tall man appear from within the shadows of his wares. An unsettlingly wide smile on his face while his eyes were hidden behind round sunglasses and the shadow of the wide–brimmed hat he wore. Both seemed ridiculously unnecessary in the dark room.

Ravalor glanced briefly at Zenozarax who just gave him a nod.

“Yes, I’m Ravalor. Pleasure meeting you, Sir.”

“Oh – he got manners, Zenozarax, did you notice he got manners? How did that happen?

Mystery to me. What do you got for me? Zenozarax stepped closer to the man, but not so much that he would have to look up as dramatically as he would have standing straight in front of him. The man Ravalor assumed to be the owner of this place was easily over two metres tall.

Julian. The man called into the maze of wares and momentarily a young man, maybe still more a boy appeared with a dutiful seriousness on his face.

Show our customer here our last shipment.

Zenozarax looked over to Ravalor. Just wait here, alright.

He nodded before Zenozarax left with the boy. Only when he had vanished within the shadows Ravalor realised that he was now alone with the owner who seemed to muster him with unsettling curiosity. He was uncomfortable with the fact that, with how little useful information he had, his Wizard in Mezchinhar was unable to find out anything of note about either the man or shop.

I’ve noticed you have several pieces here that come from Mezchinhar, he stated out of the blue as he gave into the pressure of saying something. Cursing himself almost immediately as he had to choose the one thing Zenozarax had just suggested not talking about, quickly he added, Are you a wizard? Even though he already knew the answer.

Oh no. That wide unsettling smile again. But I’ve been trading with your kind for a very long time.

Ravalor frowned slightly. It rose the question of why they were even here in the first place. Trade? What would we need to trade with… someone like you, were the words on his tongue, but even though he was still a bit rough on his interspecies interaction he sensed that that might come off as rude. With anyone, I mean. The Circle provides all we need.

But they also ask a question to every screw they hand over. Sometimes a wizard doesn’t need those questions to be asked. So I don’t.

The frown in Ravalor’s face deepened. There was a heavy implication that this man’s customers may not only be circumventing Mezchinhar, which didn’t strike him as inherently bad, but also that these wizards might belong to the kind of wizards that had no longer access to Mezchinhar in the first place. Those that had left the circle – like worshippers of Chaos, opposed to Mezchinhar’s order.

And being involved in business with a man that also extended his trade to chaos wizards was just feeling wrong. He glanced back at the weapon boxes on the shelf.

You never ask what your customers do with what you sell them?

No. But I usually already know. A light chuckle, Ravalor looked back at the man. He didn’t trust him at arm’s length, so, for now, his trust in Zenozarax’ judgement would have to make up for that. Consequently he didn’t push the subject further.

And as if he knew that he had given him enough to think about, the owner of the emporium indulged his silence with a slim yet unnerving smile.

5 Trust

Ravalor appeared through the portal directly into the workshop and the moment it closed behind him he let out a sigh of relief. The two unicorns in the room stopped their downright playful nuzzling of each other and looked towards the young wizard.

Zenozarax raised his eyes from his work desk and his brows in concern as he turned towards him. “Everything alright?”

Ravalor seemed more than tired. A brief wave of worry overcame him as he hoped Ravalor wouldn’t get too cocky with his still rudimental porting abilities, especially when he seemed as exhausted as he did now. It would be a shame to have him accidentally port himself into the earth’s core. Or worse. There were a couple of really nasty ways of getting killed while using portals. Ravalor had never died before and Zenozarax would prefer he didn’t have to make that experience for the first time while under his care.

“Exhausted.” Ravalor only confirmed, his tired tone just underlining the word as he walked towards the working aisle opposite to Zenozarax. The clicking of metal hoofs followed him.

“No wonder, you’ve been gone for–” Zenozarax frowned slightly, falling silent.

Four days, Ravalor added, sparing Zenozarax the trouble of actually having to try to put a sense of time on the last days.

“Four days!? I would die spending that much time with those buffoons.” With a dismissive wave of the hand, he turned back to the device in front of him, a slow trickle of information tingling through his fingertips.

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” Ravalor sat down, stretching his tired legs out, at first not even noticing how at his words Zenozarax abruptly rose up again and was now looking at him delightfully amused.

“Did I already tell you I like that?”

“What?” First now Ravalor frowned, all the while his unicorn had reached him and demanded his attention, nuzzling its metal head against Ravalor’s shoulder who gave it a firm pat, tousling through the wavy mane.

“You’ve really got a mean streak in you.”

Ravalor just clicked his tongue, now it was him dismissing the words with a wave of his hand before crossing his arms in front of his chest. A disgruntled chirp came from the unicorn in turn, continuing now to upset Ravalor’s hair till he gently stopped it from doing so. “I’m tired.” His eyes darted for a moment to the far right of the room. What happened there.

Zenozarax followed his gaze and frowned. Ah. That. Right. The pile of metal and circuitry looked like someone had gotten with a warhammer to it. It didn’t work, he murmured.

A curious approach to fixing it.

Their eyes met for a moment, Zenozarax would swear there was the undeniable hint of an amused smile under the black moustache. Not a minute ago he had told Ravalor he liked this sarcastic bite, now it already felt like he was abusing it.

I’ve created a monster. A strange sense of Déjà vu overcame Zenozarax ince more.

Learning from the best. Ravalor closed his eyes, seemingly ready to just take a nap right then and there on that chair. Instead, however, he said, “Things are developing greatly in Obermoor. Manufacturing is running with no problems there. You should visit at some point, you’d like it.”

“Maybe I will,” Zenozarax answered knowing full well that he wouldn’t if he not absolutely had to. Obermoor was a great place of learning and progress, an invaluable addition to Ravalor’s studies on this planet that Zenozarax didn’t want to keep from him, but it had one terrible flaw that kept him from returning there. Wizards. Way too many of them.

“Doubt that,” Ravalor mumbled as if he had read his mind. The unicorn had stopped trying to coax Ravalor into giving it more attention, understanding that its master was tired, but nevertheless, Zenozarax could swear there was a downright pouty way in which it pranced back to its counterpart. Zenozarax’ own unicorn had just watched the scene with calm curiosity. Both displaying a level of personality that would never be granted to the Unicorns in Mezchinhar, which made things a lot less fun arguably.

For a moment there was just the all-consuming quiet of the tower surrounding them, allowing no disturbance of the outside world to reach them, buried deep beneath the busy town.

Zenozarax watched the tired young wizard for a moment, at a point he wasn’t fully convinced anymore he hadn’t fallen asleep after all.

He considered saying something, now that he was back, there were many things he’d like to say or ask Ravalor. Maybe inquire if he was interested in the fair in the capital he heard about at his last visit of the world up top, or presenting him with the quick idea of expanding the tower that sprung up in his mind earlier. Maybe ask him if he needed anything, or if there was anything he could do for him. But in the end, he actually stayed quiet. Because he knew all Ravalor needed right now was a moment of peace and quiet.

Ravalor had been here for a while now. What was it? A hundred years? Could have been only twenty or already four hundred for all he knew, he didn’t pay much attention to time anymore. Especially not earth’s years. Ravalor, if asked, could probably give him the current date and time they had spent together to the exact millisecond, while Zenozarax wasn’t even quite sure which century they were in. He hadn’t paid attention to the date when Ravalor had first arrived and he didn’t do so now. All he knew was that Ravalor’s presence had become the most natural thing to him. As if it’s always been like that

He had enough self-awareness to know that both of them weren’t the easiest to deal with. He had learned that of Ravalor too, who had his very own way of being difficult. The young wizard was stoic to the point of being stubborn. Unnervingly quiet at times and yet so plainly judgmental it could be staggering, going so far that on occasions when he had looked at him with that quiet judgement in his eyes it had made even Zenozarax himself self-conscious. While maybe equally exhausting to others, they couldn’t be more different in their personalities. And yet – as strange as it was – it was somehow working out just fine.

There was an uncomfortable truth in all of that. A fact he would like not to be true, but mercilessly was. He had started to trust this wizard more than he might should. More than his sense of self-preservation told him was healthy. Ravalor was still bound very much to Mezchinhar, but even his own paranoia couldn’t make it any less true.

At some point Ravalor had stopped being a mere student to him, a student he surely wanted to see succeed, but someone he knew would only be a short speck in the course of his life. Sooner than later moving on to other ventures, to maybe become a grand wizard himself in time. In all fairness, Ravalor should long be more than a mere Scion, probably even surpassing the rank of Acolyte by now. They just hadn’t gotten around to officialise that yet.

Because instead of just a student, he had become a friend. By the lords, he thought he had stopped making those. And maybe, as asinine as it seemed, the feeling was actually mutual.

He didn’t flinch away when Ravalor opened his eyes again, maybe having felt that he was being watched. Just that soothing silence surrounding them.

“An eternity for your thoughts,” Ravalor said quietly, barely disturbing the tower’s calm.

If I gave them to you, you’d only have some old, jaded and grumpy wizard to laugh at.

Doubt that, too. Ravalor stretched himself more on the chair, quite adamant to make it the most comfortable position he could find in the tower. Old, that I can’t refute. But for everything else you’re still too passionate about what you do and care for.

What vile flattery is this?

Just an honest opinion. Do with it as you please.

6 Unicorn

“There is another one.” Ravalor entered the workshop, raising up the piece of paper he was referring to, while holding a few other scrolls and letters in the other. The seal was already broken, the heavily ornamented and expensive design showing the sign of the king. “Have you thought about it, yet?”

“I have. And my position has not changed.”

Zenozarax didn’t even raise or look at him. With his hair pulled into a knot and for once not draped in jewellery nor a heavy cloak, the wizard was hands deep in the mechanical bowels of a unicorn with its entire lower plating removed. It twitched as Zenozarax literally ripped something out of it, followed by a disgruntled noise of the unicorn and a mumbled Sorry from Zenozarax that made Ravalor smile softly before he said,

“It’s a good position. An influential one.”

“It’s servitude, that’s all that is,” Zenozarax pressed through his teeth, as he reached shoulder deep into the unicorn, another slight twitch.

“Yoctotyr wants me to inform you that, given your favourable reputation with the crown, they would like you to take it.”

“And I want you to inform Yoctotyr, that he can stick his opinion–”

“Got it.” Ravalor nodded, cutting him off before Zenozarax could finish his curse in obscenity while he put the letter aside. “On that note, they also, once more, voiced great concern about you still refusing to resign in Mezinachar. They are worried.”

Though not about my well being. At that Zenozarax finally emerged from below the great unicorn with a frown on his face, wiping his oil-smeared hands on a nearby rag. There was something quite charming about the way he looked now, as flamboyant and over the top the old wizard could be, with all his love for shiny and fancy things – he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty himself. That was the charitable interpretation. There was a case to be made that Zenozarax rather did things himself because he wanted them done right and didn’t quite trust anyone to do it as good as he could.

“It’s the exact same thing. Don’t tell me you don’t see it? It’s control, their assurance that ultimately they hold my existence in their hands, too.

It’s safety, Ravalor said diplomatically even though he knew it would only stir his friend’s irritation concerning Mezchinhar. And frankly, It would soothe my own worries, too.

Cute. Zenozarax’ smile was more of a grimace as he stood up and turned his back on him, getting some tool from the workbench.

There were many things Ravalor wanted to say, none of them he could put into words, and so he stayed quiet. Noticing this unexpected silence of him, Zenozarax finally turned back around, mustering his face, maybe reading the troubled thoughts behind it. He walked up to him, keeping his eyes on him and as he reached him, raised his hands and lay it firmly on Ravalor’s neck like he was about to give him a pep talk. Maybe he was. Ravalor did not flinch back even though every wizard was taught from the moment they came into time that another wizard’s touch was one of the most dangerous threats they could face. But that knowledge couldn’t be further away at this moment. Instead he just felt the traces of oil and grease against his skin and a heavy sense of regret as he knew he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.

“Listen to me, Ravalor. I appreciate your concern, but I will not submit myself to their whim. They don’t like me much nor do they trust me, they don’t have much use for me and just want to make sure I’m at a place where I don’t bother anyone with my antics, and that is alright. You hear me? I’m sorry it had to be you they threw at a thorn in their side like me for worldly education, there must have been a thousand more – well let’s say orderly – opportunities for a bright mind like you.”

“Actually,” Ravalor said, almost reluctant to say what he was about to say. “I requested it myself.”

That took Zenozarax by surprise. “Why?”

Ravalor weakly shrugged, staying silent.

A strange silence followed in which both actually knew that it was because of that lingering sensation both had from the very beginning that they had known each other before, somewhere in memories that had been lost in the battle of Funnix to both of them.

But Ravalor wasn’t willing to drop the subject yet, even though his senses told him that it might be for the better, and still he quickly said,

“But Mezchinhar has a use for you, they want you to take that position at the King’s side. They want you to –” play a part in their plan. To act on their behalf, forging the path of time. That was their purpose. To ensure order on the chaos of creation, protect the passage of time as it was intended to flow. “To make a difference. To do something.” Ravalor instantly regretted the words, it wasn’t what he meant, and he saw the irritation they caused immediately.

“What difference does one King make? One planet?” Zenozarax pulled his hand away, leaving only the stains, and anger in his voice. “Is what I do for nought just because it is not quite in accordance with the fever dream that is the great plan of galactic order? Is what we do pointless?

I– Ravalor tried, but Zenozarax didn’t gave him a chance to answer.

Tell me Ravalor, do you dream of controlling the kingdoms? To make life bow to your whim, standing as a god above it? Is that what you want? Absolut order, because it’s supposed to be like that?”

“No. I mean, not like that,” Ravalor said weakly, straightening in his stance as if that would help to make him feel more in control of the conversation. Which he was absolutely not. He had poked something, clearly having slumbered deep in his friend’s mind, and now it was wide awake.

“Then maybe you should reconsider your standpoint because I’m not sure Mezchinhar would agree with that.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Understand this Ravalor, if of any of what I spoke here only one thing will ring true to you, let it be this; We are to the first circle as much of a tool as those humans are to us. And the Circle is just a tool to the Lords. There are plans and decisions trickling down to us that none of us has any chance to ever be a part of and none of it will be explained to us. Because we don’t need to know. We need only to act – as we’re told. And I’ve been tired of it for a long time.”

Ravalor nodded slowly. There was a truth in those words that didn’t have to be taught to him, that he didn’t have to figure out himself. It was the truth of his own creation, the purpose and reason for his sheer existence, created by hands brought into existence by gods – not out of the goodness of their heart, because they possessed neither heart nor goodness, but because of that purpose.

A suffocating silence followed, Zenozarax looked at him while Ravalor kept his head held high, firmly keeping their eyes locked, all the while he was desperately trying to find something, anything, to say to break the silence. But what was he to say to that?

Then Zenozarax sighed, his gaze only briefly flicking away, but ultimately being the first to break the tension. “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to be this harsh with you. I know you only mean well and I hope you know that my frustration isn’t with you.”

“I know.” Relief filled those two words as Ravalor hoped this might mark the end of this dreadful topic.

Zenozarax smiled weakly, the gentleness returned to his black eyes as he looked at him. “Come, let us not talk about this any longer – I actually wanted to show you something.” He waved his hand to follow him, as he stepped closer back to the unicorn. “You will love this.”

Ravalor sighed and followed Zenozarax. The sour note the tension before had left him with was hard to get rid of, even though Zenozarax now did his best to try at least.

But the feeling did fade, once he paid attention to Zenozarax’ explanation and showcase of the changes he had made and planned. The genuine excitement soon coloured his words as if the anger before never had been there was terribly captivating. Not much later Ravalor didn’t even think about the earlier conversation anymore, as they were caught in an exhilarating back and forth about the new changes Ravalor sure would soon be introducing to the engineers in Obermoor.

But who could fault him – he really had gotten to like Unicorns.

7 Obermoor

“Do you think we’ll see what they are doing with the old King?” Ravalor asked, a hint of curious excitement in his voice Zenozarax usually loved to point out as most charming and a sign of his bloody youthfulness. Right now, however, the old wizard just frowned slightly.

“Doubt that. And don’t care. They’re just playing around. This whole cyborg nonsense is just to prove that they have more time than sense on their hands.”

“Right.” Ravalor crossed his arms as he waited for Zenozarax to finish and join him. Which might could take a moment longer.

While choosing the most suitable, most fashionable and most pleasing paraphernalia to his chosen robe, Zenozarax glanced almost amused at Ravalor. “How, by the lords’ eternal grace, can one manage to say so much, with just one single word? That, my friend, is sorcery to me.”

Ravalor rolled his eyes slightly. “Just take the silver one. You take that one 56,4% of the time, just let today be one of those days. We’re already late.”

Zenozarax eyed him suspiciously. “You didn’t sleep well, did you?”

His small sigh answered the question before his words did, his voice almost apologetic, “I haven’t slept at all for a fact.”

“I can notice, you get quite irritable if you don’t.” In absolutely no hurry Zenozarax lay down the jewellery Ravalor had just pointed out as the easiest solution, considering a more flashy rose golden variant, checking it against the stormy burgundy of his robe. And Ravalor cursed himself because he knew now Zenozarax was just doing it on purpose to irritate him.

What kept you awake?

A reflexive Besides you? lay on his tongue but even though it was true that Zenozarax, with his blatant disregard of the concept of day and night, had kept him awake more often than he could count with some epiphany, project or other just plain need for attention, it wasn’t true for last night. “Mezchinhar. I got some whispers of this meeting. And it worries me because they seemed to be.”

“But no details?”

“No, they said they want all on this earth in a room for that.”

At that Zenozarax paused and looked at Ravalor. “Isn’t that curious? I’m not quick to shine a too bright light on myself, but the only reason this meeting couldn’t have already happened with the high and mighty seems to be me.”

Ravalor had to fight with all his strength to not call Zenozarax out on the ‘light on himself’ part and manage to just nod. “It would seem that they really want you there.”

Curiosity finally gave Zenozarax the push to decide on the jewellery for the day – which ended up exactly that silver one Ravalor had just pointed out earlier. How he had to bite his tongue on that one.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, it is my favourite one after all!”

“Then why do you even have to consider the others?”

“There is no way that you could ever understand that,” Zenozarax said with a look on his face and tone in his voice that spoke of the deepest regret, all while eying Ravalors quite simplistic and rather practical choice of clothing. “Do you even own a single cloak that is not blue?”

“Do I have to?”

“It’s a form of expression! Show the world who you are, how you feel. Wonderful and powerful, for example.“ Pointing at himself. “Or –” He waved his hand, pointing at all of Ravalor. “That.”

Ravalor did his damndest to not seem amused but couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitching, which was reaction enough for Zenozarax.

Ravalor was a gifted wizard, quick learner and good student. But Zenozarax had soon realised that a sense of expressive fashion was one of the things he would never be able to teach the stoically pragmatic wizard.

Now that his own fashion problem was at least dealt with they arrived in Obermoor merely seconds later. Zenozarax opened a portal that led them straight next to the gate. For security reasons, it was prevented to port straight into Obermoor, which was quite reasonable, and despite his dislike of Obermoor, the short walk would be a great opportunity to just have a quick look around after all this time. Zenozarax opened the glistering gate and they stepped through.

His eyes were promptly drawn to the fields of Unicorns. A sight that filled him with great satisfaction. He hadn’t seen the new ones himself so far as he tended to avoid Obermoor almost as much as Mezchinhar, but Ravalor had apparently done a stellar job in his place as it turned out. They were magnificent.

Since we’re already here, you’ll have to show me around after this, he said with a nod to the unicorns and Ravalor smiled, well deservedly proud of himself.

Gladly.

The massive fortress stood before them basked in light and magic that served only one sole reason, a reason Zenozarax probably approved of, Ravalor mused, as it was pure pomp with no practical purpose to it. Besides that Obermoor was busy with life – It must have been a long time since this many wizards had gathered at one place on this planet. While most if not all of them were already inside, many had brought an entourage, and this plus the usual soldiers that staffed the place let Obermoor appear at first glance like a small busy village. A small busy village with a shining fortress and curious buildings that would seem wonderfully magical to any person living on earth at this point in time.

They had crossed the airfield halfway when a voice called out to them and they turned toward it.

“Zenozarax!” The approaching wizard acknowledged Ravalor’s presence with a relieved nod before focusing back on Zenozarax. “How good to see that Scion of yours was able to convince you to come.”

Ravalor had seen this wizard before maybe once or twice in Obermoor, but they had never been introduced. A friendly gleam in the sun–kissed face, now that he talked there was a warmth in his expression that was framed by thick black hair and the mightiest and fullest beard Ravalor had ever seen.

“He’s rather persistent, one has to give him that. Maybe stubbornly so.” Zenozarax answered relaxed, a light-hearted tone in his voice, seemingly pleased to talk to someone Ravalor had to assume to be actually a friend of his based on the way they interacted.

Ravalor indulged the older wizards talking about him as if he wasn’t even present, or, in Zenozarax’ case, the obvious quip just to tease him a little more before they would probably have to get serious for a while once they would enter the building.

“Come. I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you, what have you been up to? Besides torturing your poor Scion I assume,” the other Wizard asked with a smile as they walked side by side towards the fortress, Ravalor two steps behind them, just listening as Zenozarax answered. He was used to it. In earth years he would be already considered ancient, but most of that time he had not spent on this planet or any other.

As so many of them, he had started out as a general assistant in Mezchinhar, having done a bit of everything to find a purpose that suited him, from research to development, cloning and manufacturing, studying the universe and time itself. With the latter, he had first experienced the sensation of boredom, as he found that he was, on a conscious level, definitely not made for that field. Unfortunately, that had dragged on for what had felt like several thousand years – but then again, time in Mezchinhar was its own thing to be studied. Which he had done too at some point, trying to understand the artificial havens of time, built inside a concept that had no such thing as time and space. If pressed on it, he wouldn’t be able to retell even half of it, but he had memorised enough to move on to more engaging tasks.

That all said – in the eyes of older wizards, a very few almost as old as the birth of time itself, he would be a ‘young wizard’ for a very, very long time.

They entered the fortress and a calm voice automatically greeted them and granted them passage.

“I think with you two, everyone should have arrived,” the wizard who seemed to know Zenozarax said.

As Ravalor had suspected, they had been the last to arrive. Fashionably late. Words couldn’t describe how much he despised being late – fortunately for all involved, he had found out that his patience for Zenozarax’ chaotic ways was seemingly bottomless.

“Anything I should prepare myself for?” Zenozarax now asked and the other just laughed dryly at that.

“If I were to guess, everyone else is preparing for you. Just try not to insult everyone in the first minutes.” Then his face turned more serious. “But honestly, I have no idea. They have kept things very vague.”

“Naturally.”

Ravalor realised that he had never been to these gatherings accompanied by Zenozarax. They had been together visiting a great many festivities and banquets, the local ones in Artlenburg as well as the pompous royal ones of whatever king or queen of the decade tried to win the old wizard’s favour. Zenozarax loved those. But the official gatherings of wizards, be it an Obermoor or Mezchinhar, he never attended, sending Ravalor in his place.

The idea that he might be a known disturbance to these types of meetings wasn’t per se surprising, but Ravalor was slightly amused that it seemed to be a well-known fact to joke about for the wizards knowing him.

Ravalor followed the other two wizards into a large hall at which in the middle a massive table stood. An idling bright blue hologram hovered in its centre five metres above the floor, flooding the room in diffuse magical light. As the wizards present noticed their entering, they started to move to their seats, a low mumbling in the room. Apart from the conversation leading up here, they had missed the time for small talks and catching up and nobody veered off on their path to greet them personally. Only a few acknowledging nods of the wizards he usually worked with were directed his own way. The small group of three found their designated seats soon. Of course, today Ravalor was sitting in the second row behind Zenozarax, in the seat next to Zenozarax sat the wizard they had met outside. Finally, Ravalor got a name to the face by the seatings marker. Demitalek.

Only a few moments later, driven by the shared curiosity, his Wizard in Mezchinhar had found out that Demitalke was considered a very accomplished engineer and had served with Zenozarax till Funnix. He mused they had probably met through their Warriors but his Wizard found no clue to either confirm or deny this assumption. It wasn’t really important now anyways.

The room fell silent as the Grand Wizard Yoctotyr, in charge of Obermoor and overseeing all earth affairs as its Custodian, spoke, standing at the head of the table.

Now that we’re finally complete, let us begin. Yoctotyr’s voice was like a quake going through the silence of the room, amplified through the magic in the room. His dark brows drawn in a serious frown, Ravalor had never seen him without one, the white hair and beard basked in the defuse blue shine of the light above. His simple dark robe would not give away his importance, weren’t it for his light–blue cloak that was the dream of kings and emperors. Ravalor noticed how the Grand Wizard did look directly in their direction, Zenozarax seemed to meet his gaze head-on. “I’m very glad to see you joined us after all, Zenozarax, as you will find it preferable to speak for yourself in this matter.”

“I usually do, unlike some here.”

Ravalor saw Demitalek pinch the bridge of his nose, whispering so low only Zenozarax and Ravalor could hear him. “47 seconds. You can’t be serious.” – and he could immediately sense a palpable hostility taking root in the room, which was concerning.

“And yet it’s been your Scion we saw taking your place at the table for a long time now,” Yoctotyr said in a wondering tone that carried more than just consideration. There was something hidden behind those words they just didn’t know about yet, Ravalor could almost grasp it.

“When he speaks I know he speaks with my intentions and wishes, I think there is quite a difference here.”

“So he does,” Yoctotyr said. The room was disturbingly quiet now, everyone hanging on both wizards’ words. And Ravalor felt the uncomfortable sensation of being the subject of this discussion, first and foremost because he didn’t see how this could be relevant. Grand Wizard Yoctotyr wasn’t known to indulge in personal grudges, especially not this publicly, in such a setting. A horrifying suspicion dawned on him as he remembered that not only Zenozarax had been invited urgently to this event, but Ravalor himself too. At the time he had considered it a courtesy to include his name in the urgency of the request, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore. Had he done something wrong? Was this about him?

Maybe Zenozarax had the same line of thoughts, because briskly he asked, “What is this about, Yoctotyr? If you want to talk about my Scion, I’ll indulge you, I have a lot of things to say about him – but tell me first why he is of interest here!”

“He’s indeed a cause for concern,” Yoctotyr admitted with a grim nod.

Ravalor’s jaws were clenched tight and so were his hands as he involuntarily leaned forward. Cause for concern? A nauseating sensation overcame him as he tried feverishly to find anything he had done that might have caused this situation now – but came up with nothing.

Yoctotyr continued, “As with recent events his current educational path, as well as the values you might teach, have been put into question.”

Ravalor felt like frozen, he only saw how Zenozarax was just one trigger away from jumping up from his seat, his body tense as a drawn bow, but for now he only heard him demand in anger, “Explain yourself, Yoctotyr, I hope you have a damn good reason to level such atrocious accusation at me!”

“We do, unfortunately.” Yoctotyr sat down on his seat, still not taking his eyes from Zenozarax who seemed fuming. “As of recent years, we have witnessed a steady incline in the regularity of interference of chaos cultists on this planet. As they have become quite cunning, we had no viable course of action against their scheming, however, as their actions have grown bolder, it has been finally revealed to us whom this particular cabal of cultists is led by.”

A short pause followed that was so ridiculously and obviously only placed there to just make Zenozarax wonder who they could possibly be talking about and how it related back to him. Ravalor was surprised by how much this fact irritated him.

“The name Atladin should be still familiar to you.”

If Zenozarax had been tense before, there had to be a new word invented going beyond petrified for the sudden stiffness that seemed to take hold of his entire body. He stayed quiet while Yoctotyr continued.

“Certainly, as he was the wizard that would sit with you, just on the place your current Scion sits, yes?” A rhetorical question Zenozarax didn’t answer and Yoctotyr didn’t need to be answered. Obviously Ravalor had to deduce that the answer was indeed yes even though he had neither heard the name or met his predecessor. He hadn’t even ever considered that there might have been someone before him. Of course, there had to be. Zenozarax was too old as that Ravalor could possibly be his first Scion. What an unexpectedly strange thought. But by far not as unexpected as the deep ugly feeling of concern growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Surely you can understand our concern as we found Atladin to be leading the current – misbehaving – of this cabal. Especially, since this is not the first time this kind of accusation has been levied against your leadership.”

Finally, Zenozarax found his voice of anger again, now actually raising up, hands pressed flat into the table. “What happened in Funnix we will never know. Nor if it had been my fault or not! My name was cleared of these accusations a long time ago, what other purpose than sowing doubt now has it for you to bring it up again!” Barely contained rage was trembling in his voice.

Ravalor could do nothing but watch. How much he wanted Zenozarax to look at him, to ask him about all this, right now, but of course that wasn’t possible. Instead he saw Zenozarax take a deep breath, standing up straight, his hands flexing and relaxing again.

“What is there I can do that could possibly change what seems to be an opinion about my conduct already formed and solidified?”

Yoctotyr rose his hand, a nothing but calming gesture if he wouldn’t be a wizard. “Calm yourself Zenozarax, do not accuse us of rash judgement. Your actions have been put into question, that is true, but you’re not yet to be found to be at fault. We will, however, expect your cooperation in this matter, to resolve it as quickly as possible. Your cooperation, and that of you Scion.”

First at that Zenozarax glanced behind himself, their eyes met for a moment, and Ravalor was startled by the unrest in his friend’s face, almost a silent plea to Ravalor.

Then Zenozarax looked back at the grand wizard. “What do you require of him?”

“We will verify his memories, which shouldn’t take too long given his age. You should agree that this is the simplest solution to prove your words true.”

“No!”

Ravalor looked downright startled back at Zenozarax. Maybe everyone in the room did so right now. No?

Yoctotyr too had raised his dark brows in suspicion and surprise alike.

“You will keep your hands off him. The mere proofless accusation does not warrant this level of intrusion into who he is. That you even ask this, of a Scion under my care, is downright insulting!”

“Zenozarax, do not be ridiculous. Let us do this and we all can leave it behind us.”

I won’t allow it. And if I hear you forced this matter in Mezchinhar where he is out of my reach, I –

Zenozarax fell silent before he could have worded the threat fully, and Ravalor felt a brief flash of relief, but he also knew from the tone in his voice that there was no reasoning with him.

But then, maybe to throw himself a lifeline from the predicament his own words had brought him in, Zenozarax said: Here is what I will offer you. Let me take care of Atladin for you. If anyone will be able to find him where you failed it is me. I assume you’d want his body and mind, and so you shall have it. And when I deliver him to you, you can poke in his brain as long as you want till all your questions have been answered and you will see I’ve done him no wrong.

For the first time, the silence in the room broke and a low mumbling went through the rows of wizards. Ravalor’s eyes were fixed on Zenozarax’ back. There had been a shift in his tone, just there at the end. But he had no time to think about that before Yoctotyr spoke again.

“Are you planning to take on the cultist on your own?”

“Ravalor will be with me.”

“Do you think that is wise?”

“He’s an exceptional wizard and I trust him more than any of you here. So yes.”

Yoctotyr was silent for a moment, a cold thoughtful if not downright suspicious look in the dark eyes while letting the unrest in the room grow and in a surreal moment, Ravalor wondered how long it would be till they would start throwing rotten fruit at the man in the pillory.

As he spoke again, the other voices fell silent again.

“As a matter of fact, the question of how to deal with this cabal of cultists would have been the next item on our list to consider and the reason I’ve asked all of you here today.“

Ravalor barely heard the grand wizard talk anymore. He was watching Zenozarax as if under a spell. Saw the slow twitching of his fingers and clenching of fists, the sheer tension and anger held back with barely holding restraint. His own thoughts were overwhelming him, the prospect of acting against the cultists on their own, the possibility of actually ending up in a conflict that may kill him, or even worse, Zenozarax who had no fallback point in Mezchinhar. The fact that Zenozarax had so vehemently refused to have Ravalors memories be examined, for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp at this moment, even though he would have offered it in a heartbeat if it meant to clear Zenozarax’ name.

“Considering that, I’ll leave it up to the Conflagration to decide on this. Either, we accept Zenozarax’ offer, or we will have to take these matters into our own hands. Please decide.”

Those allowed to make a decision touched the table briefly, where their fingers touched the surface a low glow faded as quickly as it had appeared. Ravalor had no way of making his opinion count so he just watched Zenozarax and Demitalek casting their vote on the matter.

“It is decided then. Zenozarax, you shall have your chance to deal with those cultists on our behalf. As the matter is growing urgent, time is of the essence. Do not draw this out or we have to take care of both issues ourselves after all.”

“I hear you, Yoctotyr.” Zenozarax finally sat back down.

“Do you?” Yoctotyr frowned, but there seemed a strange sense of bitter amusement in his dark eyes. “Then answer me this, wizard. Are you tired of this existence gifted to you?

I’m still very much enjoying my life, thank you. You know, a life away from exactly this. Now that the immediate danger seemed to have passed, Zenozarax’ tone turned frustrated. If there had been any respect left when this meeting started it was gone now.

But one can’t help but notice that this part of yours is still the only one you possess currently, isn’t that right?

Zenozarax stayed quiet, just meeting Yoctotyr’s eyes with merciless hardness.

“This quest might as well kill you, but you seem quite willing to throw yourself, and your Scion, at it with no consideration for your own continued existence.”

Ask what you want to ask and do so clearly, or don’t speak at all, Grand Wizard! Zenozarax snapped and at that, a murmur went through the room, taken aback by the audacity of those words. Many who wouldn’t dare such a tone speaking to a Grand Wizard, seemingly forgetting that Zenozarax was holding the title of Grand Wizard too, and at least on paper Yoctotyr held no authority over him.

Ravalor was experiencing the worst form of empathy for the other wizard as he felt mortified by this public dragging out of what should have been a private conversation.

“Should you fail on this quest, and this body of yours killed, there will be no effort made to bring you back,” Yoctotyr finally said

Zenozarax stood up, “You can leave me rotting in a ditch for all I care.” He turned “We’re done here. Ravalor!”

Ravalor jumped up like bitten, nervously glancing around as he chased after Zenozarax who left the room with hard steps. Everyone was staring at them. There was mumbling following them. Judgement and sneering. It all settled in the pit of his stomach as the ugliest feeling he ever had experienced.

They reached outside and Zenozarax wasn’t stopping.

Ravalor heard Demitalek call after them, but they still weren’t stopping.

They passed the gate and immediately Zenozarax opened that portal back to the tower and, as he almost feared Zenozarax wouldn’t wait for him in his rage, Ravalor followed him quickly. At once they were back in the unnatural quiet of the Artlenburg Tower.

“Zeno–”

“Quiet!”

Ravalor flinched, in reflex his stance straightened again, his head held high, lips pressed tightly shut. Somewhere in his mind, Ravalor knew, for the sake of their friendship, he shouldn’t stay here right now, because he felt the danger of words of rage being flung just to hurt the next best thing it touched. But he was frozen, never before, in all their years together, had he seen Zenozarax this angry, this lost in his own rage.

He flinched again as that thunderous rage found it’s first victim and a jar crashed against the wall, thrown with so much force it burst into thousands of shards of glass raining down on the floor. Most of the table’s content soon followed. Fortunately, no more of the interior was then to be subject to destruction as Zenozarax pressed his hands onto the cleared table, breathing hard, trying to calm himself. Ravalor could sense the struggle within his friend.

“Why wouldn’t you let me give them what they wanted? I would have done it,” Ravalor said carefully, tensely aware that he was poking at a raging dragon with an extremely short wooden stick. But the burst of flaming rage did not come.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zenozarax’ voice was low, trembling in anger, but tired too. He didn’t turn around, he just stood there, bent over the table, his back heaving under the heavy breath incapable of soothing his troubled mind.

“I just want to help you. You have done nothing wrong. Why not let me prove it to them and clear your name.”

Finally, Zenozarax turned around, Ravalor was startled by the still palpable anger in his face. “Because this isn’t about me! It’s about you and your lords forsaken naivety!”

Ravalor almost flinched back but somehow managed to keep socially calm, even though he was facing the full force of Zenozarax’ anger now.

“You have no idea what they will do, no idea of the consequences. They will tear into your memory and you will be fully awake through all of it, unable to do anything about it. They will invade every single corner of your mind, scratching, clawing – ripping it apart just to see what’s below it. They will leave their marks and they will never go away, always a stain on your consciousness! Shadows of strangers lingering in your thoughts, ideas that aren’t your own. Because do you think looking and tearing down is all they do?

Maybe you lay there and suddenly you remember certain truths no longer, but you wouldn’t know about it, because how could you. Maybe you suddenly grow conscious of memories that never had been yours. It takes an eternity to recover from it, and I do not want to see this happen to you. I will not allow it even should that mean my own death, do you understand that Ravalor! Do not let them do this to you!”

Zenozarax words grew more pleading with every passing sentence, his monologue filled by the end with so much pain that Ravalor felt like he was being strangled by the terrifying realisation that Zenozarax did speak with the voice of a wizard who knew not by hearsay, but by experience. The implication was so heavy that they were crushing him, shortening his breath and yet he knew he would not ask. Couldn’t ask.

“Please promise me you won’t try to help me by doing this,” Zenozarax said he had come close now, firmly, pleadingly meeting his eyes.

Ravalor swallowed hard, trying to find his voice again.

“I promise. I’m sorry.” For the first time, he lowered his eyes, unable to keep looking at his friend. “I was ignorant.” He had known about the process, but he had never heard of its consequences.

“Of course you were.” But there was no malice in those words, just a sad factuality. Then a sigh. “I’ll retreat to my chambers for a moment of silence. Don’t clean this up, I’ll do it myself later. It’s my mess.”

Ravalor raised his eyes again, only briefly glancing at the destruction Zenozarax burst of anger had left in the room, then back at the wizard. “I can do it, that’s no problem.”

“Ravalor, just do as I say now. Please. Go do something else, take your mind off this for a while. We have our work cut out for us, the coming days will be taxing on both of us.” Then he paused, maybe wanting to say something else, but only shook his head slightly. Then without another word Zenozarax left him.

Alone with his confused and troubled thoughts.

8 Silence

Maybe for the first time, definitely the first time since he had been in Artlenburg and maybe even in his entire life, Ravalor perceived the silence surrounding him as distracting. Because in the silence his thoughts had room to wander.

He had been collecting data for most of the day, jumping to and back from the mighty Obermoor, to the frozen Wittenmoor buried deep beneath the lords’ mark, and Marcardsmoor standing against the force of the everlasting storms of Funnix flogging its shore sidewalls with massive waves. He had been trying his best to sweet–talk the Filemasters of each base to help him in his search – a task he was dreadful at. Sweet talking that was, but he was good at finding and collecting data.

Neither he nor even Zenozarax were allowed to tap into Mezchinhar’s libraries directly, which would have saved him the porting journey. But as it was, Ravalor lacked the rank, and Zenozarax the good will. Usually, Zenozarax as a grand wizard should be allowed to, but with all he had learned about that relationship, Ravalor wasn’t surprised he wasn’t. Furthermore, it was probably his mistrust towards the other wizards in turn that was the reason for the tower itself not being linked to the other libraries. Zenozarax surely valued his privacy, which could be considered an almost paradoxical concept for beings that naturally shared one consciousness between different bodies and were able to make information available to others with the touch of a finger. However, Ravalor knew by now quite well that Zenozarax wasn’t alone with this sentiment. Secrecy and mistrust bordering on paranoia was an art form quite many wizards pursued – naturally towards the people outside the circle but maybe even as strongly towards other wizards. And that was where the sweet-talking came back into play – he realised he would have to hone his persuasion skill if he ever were to ever get a higher rank to his name.

Be as it may, he had eventually gotten what he had sought and was now sifting through it slowly and carefully, memorising all he thought important. He was slower than usual as he felt a considerable amount of his attention drifting off again and again.

The idea that they were now on a quest to catch, or maybe even decide the death of a former student of Zenozarax’ felt terrible to him. It hit a little bit too close to home, and he wondered what turns that former Scion had taken to arrive at this point.

And maybe, only just maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind he did wonder if Zenozarax had an influence on those turns. Of course, he himself wasn’t blind to the fact that Zenozarax wasn’t one to speak too kindly of Mezchinhar. One had to be blind, deaf and dead to not notice. Nor was he ignorant towards the fact that Zenozarax encouraged him freely to think critically of all things he encountered, to never take a word on face value and especially not those coming from the circle. Would that already be considered bad?

Maybe it was another reason why Zenozarax wouldn’t want him to share his memories because maybe he did fear how the wizards would judge his conduct from an outside perspective in relation to the prescribed order of things. Was he free to question the galactic rule of order? He had thought so, never since he met Zenozarax had doubted it. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore. Was the act alone already a sign that he was being...what? Missguided?

With a frustrated whistle through his teeth, he raised his hand from the console and gave his mind a full moment to just sort itself out. He didn’t quite know what to think at all about all of this. Looking down at the now idling device before him, ready to give him access to more and more data, he tried to lead his thoughts on a more productive path.

A clearer picture had formed by now of the wizard they were looking for.

Atladin.

A former Scion and later Acolyte of Zenozarax thought he had barely spent half the time with the old wizard Ravalor had by now. He didn’t have to wonder if that was on Atladin or himself, he was of course quite aware that technically his education was long finished. The parting of ways at the end of Atladin’s mentorship was noted as ‘not noteworthy’ and his achievements as ‘as expected’. The more curious thing was that Atladin had vanished from the face of the earth – and any other observed plane of existence for that matter – just a short time later.

There had been an investigation into his disappearance, Zenozarax had been questioned in it too, but in the end, no trace of him had been found. Until recently. Emerging again as leader of a hidden cabal of Chaos cultists. At their head, he had sowed chaos and destruction wherever they went, always one step ahead to the forces of order.

Ravalor touched the display again, his eyes glowing softly as he looked again at the images he had seen. It was curious – in his studies before he had seen a lot of what violence lay within the universe, he had studied it with the emotionless clarity of any good scholar – but as he looked now though the eyes of a Soldier at the destroyed villages, the dead bodies on the grounds – he felt an unfamiliar sense of regret for that senseless killing. Maybe because he was indeed loosely connected to it now. And maybe because he had spent so much time here in Artlenburg already. Enough time to put some value on the short specks of life that were humans.

Humans that had met him with caution and mistrust first, but later with warmth and kindness. Who would invite him to tea which he would politely decline, who would seek his guidance when trouble befell them even though he wasn’t really good at that. Lifes so short, so futile, but in a way admirable. And here they were, caught in the middle of a war that went on since the lords had fallen silent, a war in which there was nothing for them to win, but everything to lose.

He heard steps approach from behind but didn’t turn away from what he was looking at, slowly going through what he knew already, wasting time.

“I have spoken with the few wizards still willing to speak to me,” Zenozarax announced with a tone of voice that almost made one believe he was proud of the fact that no wizard wanted to talk to him. Maybe he was – he wore it with a strange sense of pride. “Wonders what details you can coax out of some. And wonders how effectively they can bore one to death, too. What have you got?”

“Not much yet. It’s… going slow.”

“Is everything alright?” The genuine concern in Zenozarax’ voice made Ravalor sigh softly. What was he even thinking? His friend had given him absolutely no reason to doubt him and yet here he was, letting his personal judgement be tainted by words carrying possibly ulterior motives.

“I have a question,” he said instead of answering Zenozarax’ inquiry into his well being. The other leaned with his back against the table behind Ravalor and crossed his arms casually in front of his chest.

“Then ask.”

Ravalor turned around dropping his hands between his legs, the chair smoothly following his movement. “I’ve been trying to understand… why do they kill?” Before Zenozarax could answer he raised his hand halfway, signalling that he wasn’t quite done with formulating the whole question. “If chaos is the natural state of the universe. And humans are a creation of that chaos, they are in accordance with the natural state of the universe. Order is artificial and is being created by them and us. If you would like to return the universe to a more pure state of chaos, I understand to destroy the structures, both physically and psychologically that have been constructed. But what power does a farmer’s wife for example hold over these structures? Why would she have to die?”

A certain tension had crept up Zenozarax’ spine, and Ravalor could see in his eyes the real reluctance to even answer him, knowing full well that in this context, even answering now, in the wrong ears, could be a damning confession. That Ravalor was even considering these questions, maybe already proof enough for some. Chaos wasn’t a forbidden subject to discuss as it was an integral part of the life time had created, but it was all about context and intention.

And yet he said, “Maybe she wouldn’t have to, surely not in your understanding of chaos. But there is the problem. Chaos theory, unlike the Galactic Order, is no monolith. It’s wizards like you and me thinking just a moment too long, having been wronged in some way or holding a grudge against the circle, all arriving at their own conclusion, but all finding shelter under the same banner. Because once they act up against Mezchinhar, or once they let chaos into their mind, it’s the only place they can go, the only place they are safe from Mezchinhar’s judgement.

Some of them probably think like you, some of them may just want to tear it all down, some may despise Order so much they have to keep tearing, because – Order is, in a way, a natural occurrence, too, even though it has to be created. It evolves, again and again, you can crush it, but it will form again because living beings are drawn to it like moths to a flame. To keep that eternal state of chaos you’d have to set the universe on fire and continuously kindle that flame with a relentless onslaught of destruction.” Zenozarax spoke quietly as if he thought someone could be listening, and Ravalor felt it too. The sudden feeling as if the mere fact that they were talking about it was wrong. Which was a terrible sensation.

“So, the wife of your farmer most likely wouldn’t have to die but will do so anyway. May it be out of rage or joy of killing. May it be intentional or collateral damage. If you fight Order with Chaos, everything dies.”

But why? To what end? Ravalor asked, desperately trying to put a sense to this idea of unlimited destruction.

Freedom maybe? From the circle, from Order – from Mezchinhar’s iron fist rule over our little part of the multiverse. After all, keeping this endless fight going is the only thing they can do.

Zenozarax ended his explanation, for a moment he seemed to want to add something else, but he stayed silent. The gaze with which he mustered Ravalor now heavy. Almost painful before he barely shook his head to himself, standing upright again, turning halfway away from Ravalor.

“I hate what this does to me.”

“What do you mean?” Ravalor asked, but somehow he felt he knew exactly what he meant. Had seen it in his face as clear as it must have been on his own earlier.

“I now look at you and wonder if they will turn you against me, wonder if you ask me these questions just to give them the proof they want. And I know it isn’t so, because you’re the one single last wizard in this mess that I’d trust with my life. And yet my own thoughts seemed to turn against me.”

“I know.”

With a grim frown, Zenozarax looked back at him, the pain of the realisation that he wasn’t the only one feeling this way was clear in his face. Then he said,

“I promise you I would never do anything to bring you any harm.”

Zenozarax’ voice was filled with so much honesty, and yet it barely covered the frustration of feeling it necessary to even say it. It felt almost silly.

“I appreciate that. Ravalor tried to give his words a little smile and failed. In turn let me try to calm your worries too, and promise you that I won’t betray you.”

And maybe these words would help. Most likely not much, as thoughts were a fickle thing to control, but they had been said and said honestly, and it was good. Just a little soothing drop of water on a heated stone.

“Very well.” Zenozarax took a deep breath, doing his best to let his voice be steady and tone firm. “Let us try to bring this awful business behind us as soon as possible. Tell me what you found out and let’s try to locate this troublesome wizard.”

Ravalor nodded. He would like that very much. Just be done with this already, return to how things had been.

9 Plan

“What, you actually want to try to talk to him?”

“What would you do? Kill him outright? How could I’ve known my Scion to be so pragmatically bloodthirsty? Actually, why would that surprise me?

“No, of course not! But this seems really risky.”

“Give me a better idea, and I mean anything, enlighten me. At this point, I’d take it.”

“Maybe we can use the unicorns?”

Yes, I already was planning to take them with us. But we only have the two.

There are more.

“Just take them from Obermoor? Because they sure as hell won’t give them to us.”

“I have full access.”

“I know you do. And it worries me greatly that you seem suddenly disturbingly willing to literally steal from them. It also warms my heart, but that’s beside the point.”

I’m just making sure all options are on the table. I do know it would be the most counterproductive course of action. Ravalor gave a grim nod. There was little to no sense in trying to get off Mezchinhar’s bad side by getting on Mezchinhar’s bad side.

Zenozarax groaned as he leaned back. He had known to be in over his head the moment he had made that proposal to the conflagration, now he just had to figure out a way that didn’t get them both killed.

Because contrary to what Yoctotyr might thought, he didn’t want to die. Most certainly not now when his life had been more stimulating than it had been in a long time. For the first time in an equally long time, he did curse himself for having been so stubborn. This rare moment of critical self-reflection caused by the fact that this would be a lot easier and less dangerous to him had he, at any point, just agreed to have his Warrior back in Mezchinhar.

As it was he had neither the time nor the resources to build himself a suitable backup now – unless…

There was one option. He would have to go to Mezchinhar and beg and crawl before them, begging them to let him rebuild his Warrior after all and give him access to the chambers of time. While outside of Mezchinhar they had no ability to influence time, time itself in Mezchinhar was artificial by nature, and hence could be manipulated. Maybe he could have the time needed to finish a fallback point.

It was so very tempting. A perfectly reasonable excuse to put his absolute principles and fears aside for just a moment. He hadn’t been whole in a very long time but his soul ached to have this other part of him back just the same.

But the mere thought of having to go there, tail tucked and fainting submissiveness, begging them for their grace and mercy made his skin crawl. Just so once this was over they could dig their merciless claws back into him, because order and duty may have spared him while he was alone now, but it wouldn’t pass by the Warrior. Zenozarax felt like dying by the mere thought of it. And no matter how hard he tried, even with the possibility of actually dying, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He’d rather self combust.

And here he had thought of Ravalor as stubborn. But maybe this wasn’t stubbornness anymore, it might as well be insanity because objectively he knew that it was a reasonable option.

“You’re thinking about it again, don’t you.”

Ravalors voice ripped him from his thoughts and he blinked, having to relax the frown in his face he hadn’t even noticed had appeared there. “It seems I can only get more obvious when next I should start speaking my thoughts out loud.”

You usually do. Now that you don’t it worries me. I still don’t think it would be as humiliating as you think it to be. It is reasonable. Everyone would understand. Let me go and ask on your behalf.” Ravalor said downright gently, Zenozarax knew that tone too well, and usually it worked. Usually he wouldn’t deny Ravalor anything he asked for. But not so this time, not for this.

“I’ll strangle you in your sleep with my own two hands should you do that.” He tried to sound like he was joking, but somehow didn’t quite manage to do so.

“Alright, then.” Ravalor sighed disappointed, not willing to let this discussion escalate as it had when they had broached this topic for the first time.

As expected the young wizard, while sympathetic to his struggle, had been reasonably upset that Zenozarax was shunning this very simple option as strongly as he did. A few surprisingly harsh words had been said in the heat of the moment both had to apologise for later. He understood that Ravalor was very worried about him actually dying, and Zenozarax’ anger hadn’t even been truly directed at his young friend, but that other damn wizard Demitalek he had thought of as a friend, too. Because it had been Demitalek who had approached Ravalor in Mezchinhar and made him even aware that it was an option. That the young wizard had then taken a strong stance on it wasn’t at all surprising.

“Let us be serious about this now and not waste more time with nonsense,” Zenozarax said, opening up a large map on the table before them displaying the fractured western shoreline of this land.

Nonsense, Ravalor scoffed in spirit but kept quiet. He simply couldn’t understand how Zenozarax’ dislike of Mezchinhar could be so strong, that he was risking to truly die. Ravalor felt a frustrating helplessness as he just couldn’t find a way to convince his friend to take the safer option even when it would hurt his pride. He had to assume and desperately believe that there had to be more to this, that this couldn’t be just about pride. But he had no more time to worry about that question as Zenozarax continued.

“I have a handful of guesses where we might find Atladin, however, if we’re assuming he has returned here, my best guess would be right here.” He pointed out one of the countless small islands that had broken from the land at the terrible battle of Funnix where once Chaos and Order had clashed and ripped the land apart, leaving the sea in an uproar and the sky howling in agony ever since.

“What’s there?”

“Nothing. Mortals don’t dare to pass the storms of Funnix and no wizard goes further than Marcardsmoor anymore. Chaos is strong there since the battle, now it fuels the hurricane and the everlasting storm tide.

Okay, let me rephrase that, why would Atladin be there?

The place holds significance to him.

Ravalor wanted to ask, how so?, but as Zenozarax – uncharacteristically – did not explain on his own, didn’t even look at him, it dawned on him – and it was a disgusting feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn’t that Zenozarax didn’t trust him, but he didn’t trust Mezchinhar – and yet it still felt just the same. At the same time, it cast a heavy doubt as Ravalor could only guess what it was Zenozarax feared to say in front of him now, with the only information that it must have been a place Zenozarax had led Atladin at some point. Into the heart of earthly chaos. The implication alone was troubling. Charitably he would want to believe it must have been for educational purposes, but even that raised questions. The picture drawn slowly but surely painted Zenozarax as not utterly uninvolved after all – and maybe he really should ask ‘how so’, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He just wanted this to be over.

He would have lied if he would say the thought of going against Zenozarax’ wish and offering Mezchinar to evaluate his memories hadn’t crossed his mind. Just to make this all go away. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that either. Not only because he didn’t want to go against Zenozarax’s desperate plea and break his own promise, but also… because he was scared of it, too. And not only because of what I might do to him.

We’ll port here, Zenozarax said, pointing at the map. Our wards will be weakened due to the intense chaos interference in the air, so don’t rely too heavily on them. If we draw fire, no heroics, take cover wherever you can.

As I said, I was planning to take the unicorns with us, with their warding they will be affected by the interference too, but we should stay within their bounds for as long as we can nevertheless. There are caves there, created by the explosion, some of them connecting into the tunnels. I suspect this cabal has taken shelter there, once we’re below ground, the natural interference will be less of a problem. Zenozarax’ voice was firm now, speaking with the authority and confidence that once must have belonged to his Warrior.

If we see anyone, I’ll try to talk to them while you keep an eye on our backs. With a little bit of luck, they will bring us to Atladin without a fight. If talking is no option we have to move slowly and try to engage them one by one. The longer we stay hidden the better. I’m certain once we reach Atladin, he will talk to me.

Ravalor nodded So far, so good. That covers how to get in part. What about the get out again part, with us right in the middle of what, a couple of dozens of cultists probably hellbent on killing us? What are you hoping to achieve by talking with Atladin in the first place? Surely he won’t just give himself up.

“Probably not,” Zenozarax admitted. “But if there’s even a chance, I shall try it. If he is there, he is expecting me and wants to talk to me. It would be the only reason to actually choose the place, as only I would know about it.”

There was a certain logic to that possibility, making the chance they were killed on the spot maybe a bit less likely.

“However, if the talking fails, which it probably will –” Zenozarax sighed with heavy regret. “I’ll rig the unicorns with a spell that should vaporise the entire island.”

Ravalor blinked, taken aback by the dramatic escalation of violence from merely talking to sudden total destruction.

Zenozarax frowned, his arms crossed as he leaned back. “I don’t plan to blow us up with it, I will ward us and port us out of there in time. At least I hope so because otherwise, that would be most… unfortunate. Maybe I should make a will in case I do fuck up – would you want the tower? You should have it – Mezchinhar would hate that because you’re not a High Wizard yet–”

“Wait–” Ravalor was barely able to sort out his rushing thoughts. “If you blow up the whole island, how do you plan to get Atladin to Mezchinar?”

“Ideally I’ll be able to drag him with us. Timing will be crucial, but it should be possible.”

Ravalor’s eyes narrowed in light suspicion. There was an uncomfortable and unsteady undertone in Zenozarax’ voice he couldn’t quite place. It might be discomfort over what they were planning to do or uncertainty over their chance of success. Neither was very assuring in their own way. Putting that thought aside, Ravalor asked instead, “Everyone else dies?”

“Once again, if you have a better idea? Otherwise, it seems unavoidable and has to be done.”

He knew that, and in truth, he felt more regret for the death of their unicorns than that of the cultist. As Zenozarax said, it had to be done, if it came to it.

Zenozarax took his silence as answer enough and then said “There are a staggering amount of things that can go wrong with this plan, but it’s the best I could come up with. However, be ready to improvise, if I tell you to do something, do it and be ready to get out of there, if we’re in danger and you have a chance to save yourself, do it.”

“I’m going to be fine, it’s still you I’m worried about,” Ravalor mumbled. Still the dreadful thing about the missing fallback point.

“Fine, if you see a chance to save my ass, go for it. But if we both die there, don’t come to me complaining about how much dying sucks.” Zenozarax’ tone was overly exasperated, and yet Ravalor saw the slight twitch of a weak smile in the corners of his mouth.

“It will work!” Ravalor said somewhat confidently, at least attempting to give wishful optimism a try.

He could never have known that this would be probably the last time he did so for a very long time.

10 Atladin

His mind reached out. Confused. Distant. He was there. Everything was dark.

With an agonising heaviness filling every limb of his body and a tingling electric current running through his muscles Ravalor slowly was able to open his eyes again. Blinking a few times as the world in front of his eyes seemed distorted and flickering, artefacts dancing before his eyes. He groaned, raising an arm but let it drop back on the floor immediately as he barely possessed the control to keep it up.

It was dark, pitch black at first before his eyes adjusted unusually slowly to the darkness. What came into focus seemed to be rough stone, not cut but left as nature’s forces had willed it. Creepingly a chilling sensation finally computed in his mind and he shuddered. His clothes were heavy, damp and ice cold. He heard nothing. No, that wasn’t true, at first he heard nothing, then there was a low dripping, and then a low familiar sizzling.

A strange sensation started to overtake him. A tightness in his chest, something screaming at him so far back in his mind he couldn’t even focus on it right now as his mind was still hazy.

Slowly, gaining more control over his body, he dropped his head to the side, looking for the origin of the electric sizzling. He barely recognized the wizard sitting with his back against the rough stone wall so different did he look now. Dishevelled, dirty and wet from head to toe – there was nothing left of the aloof pomp Zenozarax usually displayed with an obnoxious confidence. He sat with his hands between his knees, fingertips a hands width apart, and occasionally a light spark jumped from one hand to the other, dying in midair, making that sizzling sound. The look in his face was dark and brooding, so lost in thoughts he didn’t even seem to have realised Ravalor had woken.

“What happened?” Ravalor mumbled, blinking hard again as his vision seemed still twitchy. Under strain he sat up, brushing his hair out of his face. Zenozarax didn’t answer, didn’t even look. His own memories seemed fractured, his thoughts scrambled as that strange feeling started to become more and more prominent, but slowly he puzzled them together.

They had arrived as planned, they had actually run into a cultist, as hoped, and Zenozarax had convinced the other wizard, after almost having blown each other up till he told him who he was, to take them to Atladin. Till then everything had happened as planned and they had been led out of the storm, the unicorns had stayed at the entrance of the cave. Which wouldn’t have been a problem for their plan, Zenozarax had earlier assured him, their escape explosion would surely reach deep enough.

Ravalor frowned as he reached the end of his memories. There was nothing but darkness after that. But there was something else, something else that wasn’t right.

“Zenozarax? What happened?” he asked again, now finally sitting and feeling more in control over his body. Maybe, he thought, he hadn’t even spoken before, as Zenozarax now finally raised his eyes, furious anger in them.

“Well, it seems our arrival was well planned for.”

His thoughts were still sluggish as he tried to take the words by what they meant. “They knew…?” he asked calmly, at least he tried, but the tightness in his chest had become so strong that he could barely breathe. He knew it was just a sensation spun up by his mind, he didn’t even technically have to breathe, least to speak, but right now he felt like suffocating. Or at least what he assumed suffocation felt like. With a distant, very analytical part of his mind, he realised what it must be – though he had never felt it before. Panic. Though he didn’t quite understand it. Barely he heard Zenozarax speak. His thoughts were void and spiralling, he couldn’t focus, something was terribly wrong.

“Maybe we have someone in Mezchinhar a bit too sympathetic to these people. Maybe they just figured I would come sooner than later. I mean I suspected as much, but not– he fell silent, then continued. It doesn’t really matter. We have a problem, my dear friend, if you haven’t realised yet. Wherever we are now, we can’t port, we can’t even use magic, we’re literally at their mercy.” Theatrically Zenozarax spread his arms wide, the sparks at his fingers sizzling and pitifully dying down.

“How?” very distantly he heard himself ask, his breath was flat and quick now.

Zenozarax clapped his hands back together between his knees with a shrug and false grin that only showed how stressed he felt “Chaos.” he took a deep breath. Then he added downright sombre, more murmuring than speaking Probably just like Funnix, I guess… A pause, maybe about to elaborate on what he thought was going on. But Ravalor wasn’t even looking at him anymore, he was merely staring at the ground. “Ravalor? Are you alright?” Sudden concern.

“Yes.”

“You don’t look alright.”

“No I’m–” He shook his head, then finally he understood, his feelings weren’t caused by anything he himself experienced right now. He had been so focused on this situation that he hadn’t even understood. Hadn’t even paid attention to memories that shouldn’t even be there. He had shut out the Wizard when they had arrived, to keep him safe from the chaos magic, but he couldn’t remember having reconnected with him. But he was. He was there. “I’m not.” he finally realised, wide-eyed, looking at Zenozarax. It took the older wizard only a fraction of a second to understand what Ravalor was saying. Because the I Ravalor had used wasn’t referring to the body sitting before him now.

“Why are you– you’re still able to reach him here? How– What are you doing? What’s wrong?” Zenozarax got quickly on his feet, coming over to him almost staggering by surprise and the sudden haste.

“I’m….” Ravalor felt his heart stumble, the memories he received from his Wizard in Mezchinhar felt distorted, disorientating, dark and terribly distant. Memories so far away they almost dissipated before his eyes, his entire being hanging on a silvery thread so thin it threatened to snap any second under the strain of the chaos interference. He barely understood where he was or what was happening. The Wizard was so far away.

He remembered himself now telling someone that they were still alive. His voice had been feverish, taken by relief and the sudden hope to just clear this misunderstanding up. He hadn’t been able to move his body.

“Ravalor. What is going on?” Zenozarax’ voice was distant, there was a touch on his shoulders.

“We’ve disappeared almost a week ago,” Ravalor whispered, his eyes faintly glowing as his mind tried to sort through the memories. “There is someone else–”

“But you’re still in Mezchinhar?”

“Yes. I didn’t know what happened, but I told them where we went, all I knew. They searched the area but haven’t found any trace of us.

Again he told the unfamiliar wizard that he and Zenozarax were still alive, that he had just awoken, then the other wizard asked where they were. But he didn’t know that. He couldn’t find him. The distortion was almost absolut, straining his mind.

They think we joined them. That I shut me out and you took me with you. They want to know what happened. Ravalor said almost feverishly, the panic his other self was trickling down through the memories into his own consciousness. I’ve told them I don’t know, but they don’t believe me. They brought me here to –

Ravalor.

Ravalor!

A hard grip on his shoulders barely ripped him from his equals memories, his heart racing and breath flat. He looked at Zenozarax’ face, it was ashen, his expression horrified. Whom are you talking to?

Yettadeimos. He flicked back as more of the flickering memories came to his mind, he couldn’t think straight, his mind seemed sluggish. The towering wizard called Yettadeimos had told him to not resist, that he would only make it worse for himself, his voice was dark and merciless. His eyes were cold. Glowing. Ravalor couldn’t move.

Zenozarax didn’t need to hear more past the name, that cursed name belonging to an entity too cruel to be called a wizard, and he grabbed Ravalor by his shoulders, a feverish urgency in his words now. Ravalor, you have to shut him out right now. Ravalor, listen to me, I need you here with me now! They’re about to–

But Ravalor heard nothing of it anymore as suddenly his mind was set aflame, exploding into his consciousness. Every muscle in his body locked up. Eyes wide. That his body was caught before his head could have hit the floor he didn’t even notice anymore.

And something else, something cold and merciless, dug its claws deep into his mind.

*

It was an eternity. Hours maybe. Days it felt like. Zenozarax held Ravalor. He wasn’t truly unconscious but right now he might as well be dead. Zenozarax just stared at the wall before him because he couldn’t bear the sheer terror in the now bright glowing eyes. The young wizard’s body twitched, muscles cramped and tensed at random. Zenozarax had been talking, speaking to Ravalor though he couldn’t hear him, maybe to soothe his own mind more than he could his. Words of comfort, promising it would soon be over. Lies and make-belief. All the while he was drowning in anger and frustration, he wanted to burst, shout and tear and yet he could do nothing but wait.

The twitching of the paralyzed body in his arms grew weaker, Zenozarax knew that was only by exhaustion. He forced himself to look back at him, his own hands shaking softly as he brushed the dishevelled black hair aside. Ravalors eyes twitched lightly, looking at something Zenozarax couldn’t see. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Zenozarax froze for a moment at the unexpected voice. Then he looked up, and the fire burning in his stomach grew a thousandfold as he looked at the face he once knew. And yet he answered almost calmly,

“His mind is being taken apart.”

Atladin’s lips drew into an almost grimace smile of disgust. He had no reason to care for Ravalor, but at this moment, both of them, Ataldin and Zenozarax, were unified in their hatred for the Circle’s actions. “What does he know?”

“Nothing.” Zenozarax merely whispered, looking down at Ravalor “He hasn’t done anything to deserve this.”

Atladin kept quiet for a moment before he factually concluded, “You care a lot about him.”

Zenozarax’ hands twitched but kept holding Ravalor. What he wanted to do right now was to blast Atladin to atoms – but as he couldn’t do that he just stared. For now fully capable of blaming all of this on his former Scion, because none of this would have happened without him. For now, he himself wasn’t to blame.

“What do you want, Atladin? Why are we even still alive?”

“Well, now that you have finally awakened we can actually talk about that. I’m sorry if this delay caused some problems. A brief glance at Ravalor. Given how young he is, we suspected he might be able to reach Mezchinhar. Atladin frowned slightly, and Zenozarax felt a cold shiver running up his spine as he understood very well that the only reason Ravalor was even still alive was Atladin’s choice to take the gamble rather than to antagonise himself towards Zenozarax outright by killing Ravalor.

We had to make sure you weren’t leading the whole Order to us. I’m sure you understand that.”

He did. Attladin spoke honestly and freely, as he always had, as he had been taught. Not a hint of hostility in his tone.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Zenozarax said sharply and for a moment, there was a hint of distress in the familiar face, the twitch of the lips under a dark blond beard, a reminder of their past, when this tone of voice still would have meant something. But that moment faded, and Atladin regained his composure.

“I did hear about what has been said at the conflagration. Frankly, I hoped once you’d seek me out you would consider joining us. Because from what I heard your relationship with Mezchinar has all but fully fallen apart at this point.” Atladin briefly glanced at the still shaking body in Zenozaraxes arms. “And I assume they already think you did.”

Zenozarax did not answer, but Atladin didn’t seem to expect him to.

“I know why you’re here. I came back, and now you want me dead. I understand that,” the still young wizard said grimly. “And if that’s what you think you must do, you will die here.” A fact. Nothing more. Regrettable, based on the tone of voice, but not much more than that. “But please, consider the alternative here. I know you’re angry, you’ve been for a long time. Now more so than ever I’d say.” Atladin continued with disgustingly soft compassion in his voice that made Zenozarax’ stomach turn. And it got worse when Attladin squatted down, no longer looking down at him but willfully meeting him at eye level.

Hasn’t it been long enough? Having them breathe down your neck? You know they don’t trust you. They are just waiting for a halfhearted reason to shackle you for good, don’t let them. We’re free, Zenozarax.

Are you? Zenozarax counted sharply. You’re a fugitive, your entire life is determined by the Circle as well. You’ll never not have to run and fight just to stay alive.

Atladin didn’t object, on the contrary, he nodded grimly. True. But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not forever. You’re a very powerful wizard Zenozarax, one of the old ones. If you would allow Chaos into your mind you could be more powerful than you could ever imagine. More powerful than many of us could ever dream of. You could make a real difference! Atladin’s words came quickly now, almost feverish in his desire to convince him, begging for a positive reaction from him. You always said the multiverse would be better off without them. Maybe that is possible! Maybe with your help, in time, we’ll be able to bring them down for good. End this madness. You can be free!

Zenozarax stayed quiet, confronted with his own words of anger repeated back at him – but he kept quiet. And finally, his silence and hard frown seemed to make Atladin nervous, so he stood up again.

“Think about it, will you? We could use your help,” Atladin said, there was no threat or malice in his voice, “I’ll come back in the morning.” He paused, looking again at Ravalor “Of course, he is welcome too.” A clear doubt as if Atladin wasn’t fully convinced Ravalor would ever come out of this state. Then he added, You know there are only two ways this can go. I don’t want to fight you, Zenozarax, even less I’d want to kill you.

And still, Zenozarax said nothing.

Their eyes met for a moment longer.

Then Atladin left with a spark of light and darkness embracing his entire being before vanishing with him into thin air. For a while, his eyes lingered where Atladin had disappeared.

For much longer he drowned in anger staring down at his suffering most trusted friend in his arms.

Then for an eternity he only sat there, his eyes closed, suffocating on his own thoughts.

By the time hours might have passed, Ravalor had calmed down almost completely. And so had Zenozarax. His mind was quiet. His before aimless hatred now sharp and precise. His lost desperation now turned into a clear understanding that there really were only two ways this could go. What would inevitably happen and why was so hard in focus, he could feel it rushing through his entire body in an almost forgotten clarity that felt still familiar.

He didn’t know yet how it would happen. But it would.

His senses were so sharp he actually felt when Ravalor regained control over his mind. Felt it tingled to his own fingertips as Ravalors mind fired desperately weak signals to regain control of his exhausted body.

“Careful now. Take it slow,” Zenozarax said quietly, laying Ravalor finally back onto the floor, the cold of the ground might do him some good, his body felt downright feverish.

Ravalors eyelids fluttered, his eyes glazed as they lost their glow turning black, he looked at Zenozarax but didn’t really seem to see him.

It’s not over yet, Ravalor, but you will be alright, he said calmly, softly speaking to his shaken, most trusted friend. Focus on me. Not on them. I’m right here.

The young wizard’s breath staggered, his eyes became more clear, but also more horrified. His hand was trembling as he took Zenozarax’ hand. Just holding on to it as he closed his eyes. I’m sorry… his voice was almost inaudible.

No. You have nothing to apologise for. Don’t burden yourself with guilt now. Just clear your mind. I’ll get us out of here. And you will be fine. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but in time you will be. I promise.

His own words rung hollow to him. How could he promise what he knew was wishful thinking? Maybe he would be fine, yes, but in some part, he would never be the same. Some part of him would always remember.

Once it had broken his own trust in people he thought to have his best interest in mind, had left him bitter and frustrated. Now even just witnessing it again had brought that all back once more. The sense of betrayal, now twice as strong.

Ravalor?

Reluctantly the young wizard opened his eyes, for the first time now seeming to really see him. And Zenozarax hated the dull and exhausted shadow that had fallen over them. With Ravalor’s hand in his, a faint connection tingled between them, and when he spoke again there were no words uttered.

Ravalor, listen to me, remember what we talked about, about fighting chaos? You can’t stay connected to him. You shouldn’t even be still. He said slowly, keeping his eyes steady on the other who only nodded weakly. You have to cut off your Wizard.

The sense of confusion seemed to drag Ravalor further back into reality, listening to Zenozarax’ voice in his own head. At this point, he took everything that helped in any way.

I promise I’ll get us both out of here. Atladin knows we can’t do anything but do as he says now, so he has no reason to trust me yet. So you have to shut out Mezchinhar and do it now. Atladin will return soon. But you have to separate from your wizard before that to keep him safe. Can you do that for me?

He saw how many questions Ravalor wanted to ask. But failed to word any of them as he hesitated, lost in his confusion.

“Please, Ravalor, trust me,” he pleaded against the sign of clear distress in the dark eyes. He knew he was asking a lot of him, just having gone through one nightmare just to experience the utter silence of his other part on top of that.

Ravalor didn’t answer, didn’t ask further, maybe he was just too tired for it, but for a brief moment, his eyes glowed, then returned to their natural darkness before he closed his eyes again. He took a deep breath. There was no visual change, but Zenozarax knew of the burden he had just taken on.

“I’ll get us out of here,” Zenozarax repeated, maybe not even talking to Ravalor anymore, a grim frown on his face.

11 Chaos

By the time Atladin returned, Ravalor had sat up, leaning with his back against the wall, his head lowered – he hadn’t spoken since. Zenozarax had kept his eyes on him and tried to talk to him, gently, urgently, at times downright begging him to answer, but all he ever had gotten was a slow shake of the head. Zenozarax had started to slowly pace through the small cave that was their cell. Not nervously, but in restless tension.

When his former Scion appeared in the exitless enclosure he only briefly even looked at Ravalor, there was no sign on Atladin’s face that would give away if he was dismayed or relieved to see Ravalor at least being able to sit at this point. But why would he be? All one could reasonably expect from him was indifference.

“Zenozarax,” Atladin greeted him with a slight nod, all but short of a bow, showing the respect he still held for his former teacher. “Have you considered?”

“That I did,” Zenozarax said, and by the lords, no matter how distant Ravalor had been, now he felt the young wizard’s gaze drilling into his back. And on the other side, Atladin was tensely meeting his eyes, expecting an answer. Hoping even. It filled him with a stale bitterness.

“We will join you. At least for now. Ravalor isn’t well, he won’t be for a while. I need to take care of him,” he said, his voice low, but clearly understandable. “He’s my student, my responsibility, and what happened here brought him much pain and suffering. This is my first priority now, Atladin, you understand?”

“Of course.” Atladin nodded, then a hesitant smile appeared on his lips. There was still a healthy amount of suspicion, but Zenozarax also saw the glimmer of trust in the still young chaos wizard’s eyes. Admiration even, pride in hopefully having his teacher back on his side. The teacher who had taught him all that led him to where he was now. “What do you need?”

“A place for him to rest well, for a start.”

“Of course,” Atladin repeated, “Come, follow me. Can he walk?”

Zenozarax didn’t answer as he turned to Ravalor. Their eyes met with unspoken questions between them, pleading in his own silence. Safely he helped Ravalor up who was by now still too weak to walk on his own. They followed Atladin through an erratically sparking portal. Zenozarax felt Ralthor’s eyes on him. But he kept his own eyes on Ataldin.

On the way, they didn’t pass many. Those they did, looked after them quietly before they followed them.

Maybe, if it would matter, Zenozarax would have asked how many men he had, what his plans were, where they were even. But he realized nothing of that did matter.

“Zen–”

He turned his head to Ravalor, and whatever Ravalor had wanted to say, or ask, died in silence.

Attladin led them through another portal, a fixed one connecting two predetermined points in space, and Zenozarax felt a grim pride at the level of precautions Atladin had taken to keep himself out of the circle’s reach. Maybe they weren’t even on earth anymore. But that too didn’t matter, he could still feel how his magic was stunted within every atom of his body as chaos was pressing down onto him. It was the only thing besides the weight of Ravalor’s body beside him that he truly noticed. It felt familiar, oppressing and staggeringly powerful.

And Zenozarax would be made to understand it. The curse of chaos would be given to him, tainting him forever, making him an outcast to Mezchinhar should they find out. There was no way around that anymore besides his own death. And he wouldn’t accept death.

After they would have corrupted his own mind, they would do the same to Ravalor. It was inevitable. Another sleeper agent of Chaos in Mezchinhar, surely soon to be found out and killed. And he didn’t accept that either.

There were people around them, he barely saw them, voices he didn’t hear, Atladin was speaking, he looked calm and collected but nothing of what he might say would change things now. The world was quiet around him, almost peaceful.

Fate had been decided for each and every one of them. Because he was still in control, he still could force fate, he could take it.

Atladin. He said, his voice endlessly calm and dangerously deep.

His former student stopped, turning towards him, a questioning and patient look on his young face, but Zenozarax didn’t see it anymore. He let go of Ravalor who almost fell the moment he had to stand on his own, and from that moment onwards, a rapid chain of events started.

Zenozarax did what was already a terrible idea with any normal wizard and downright madness with a chaos wizard like Atladin – before the other could have reacted because he hadn’t been on guard, he hadn’t expected it, any of what now happened – Zenozarax grabbed his arm, fingers grasped painfully around Atladin’s wrist and the very same moment the ancient marking lit up and their minds violently clashed. And Zenozarax felt it within a split second – the chaos instantly drowning his own mind, a curse infecting every cell of his body. But in truth – he realized in that brief moment that it wasn’t a curse, no malicious virus forcing its way into his mind – though it was maybe even more intrusive; It was knowledge. A language suddenly opened up before him with words he had seen before but never understood.

Deep within his mind, he felt the lock break. His knowledge of chaos, accumulated with the factuality to never be able to use it, now so easy to understand, so easy to grasp. The world suddenly recontextualized in that language that unfolded before his eye. How long had he been convinced his studies had been just for the acquisition of knowledge. To understand what could have happened at Funnix.

His body felt set aflame as it tuned into the chaotic energy around them, unknown power tingling in the tips of his fingers. And to his own surprise, somehow it was a deep unsettlingly familiar feeling.

His fingers hard around Atladin’s wrist shook by the sheer tension taking hold of them, grasping the power he controlled now.

Atladin’s face was ashen by horror, for a mere split second, as he felt the dark energy around them bending. But it was already too late.

A terrible quake went through the room as if reality itself was being shifted, Atladin’s mouth opened, but at that moment the world around them exploded into chaos. Something terrible and massive embraced Zenozarax, the entity of sheer destruction almost tearing down its own master, barely adhering to his command. But through it he felt it, one mind after another crying out in agony and vanishing into the all-consuming dark flame of chaos spreading like wildfire through the entire complex. Destroying everything it touched. Now the world around them really was trembling as the chaos pulled on the very fabric it was made of. Stones fell from the ceiling with thunderous impact, makeshift buildings collapsed.

Zenozarax looked down to the body before him laying on the ground. Atladin had collapsed, but he wasn’t dead. He had made sure of that. His body twitched as his mind had been torn apart just so far that he was utterly helpless now. Fully at the mercy of the wizard that looked with nothing but contempt down at him. The wizard that possessed powers he truly couldn’t have dreamed of. Terror lay in Atladin’s eyes, terror and confusion as he tried to speak but all that came from his mouth, as Zenozarax stepped closer to him, was a suffocating and pathetic gasp.

Zenozarax stood still for a moment as the world around them was falling apart, consumed by chaos, as was he himself with the anger and hatred within him, demanding him to act, to act now and take that revenge on the wizard that had tried to ruin his life twice now.

He kneeled, meeting Atladin’s eyes, the young wizard’s whole body was by now taken by muscle spasms as his consciousness failed again and again to compute his thoughts. His eyes wide with terror as Zenozarax took hold of his head by the forehead with one hand.

Why couldn’t you just stay away?

Anger and frustration strangled him. He saw the quiet panic, the shattering realization of having made a terrible miscalculation in the flickering eyes. Nothing of this would have needed to happen, had Atladin just stayed away.

Like they had agreed on!

A violent and final twitch went through the entire body as he was almost bursting with the uncontrolled chaos magic shooting through him, his mouth in a grotesque silent scream as his skin burst, black blood dripping from his ears as Atladin’s eyes that had shone brightly for a moment turned dark and dull.

Every part of Atladin was dead.

And it had changed nothing.

It had only added a blinding burning pain that now tingled in the markings running up his arms and an unsettling sense of satisfaction.

Suddenly he rose, he felt the flame of chaos embrace something he had almost forgotten about. Hadn’t considered being here at all. It was maybe only a second in total. The realization that this madman had brought the unicorns to this place, the moment the chaos construct embraced them before he could stop it. He whirled around, time seemed to stand still for a moment as he for the first time now looked at Ravalor’s eyes. His heart stopped by what he saw in them, but he couldn’t care about that now. Several things happened almost at the same time.

With a blinding explosion, the entire place evaporated around them and just before the destructive blast of fire reached them Zenozarax had grabbed Ravalor by his upper arm and chaos embraced both of them, the world around them a whirl of blinding light and all–consuming darkness, and the entity was drawn back into himself.

…

12 Tower

The absolute silence both of them fell into was deafening.

The tower around them was as quiet and calm as it always had been.

But neither of the two wizards that had been teleported straight into the tower’s heart were who they used to be. And it took them both a moment to really arrive and understand. If either of them really did. Zenozarax was still holding Ravalor at his arm, while Ravalor just stared at him.

He was the first to break the silence.

“What have you done?” His voice was shaken and quiet, barely audible.

“I got us out of there,” Zenozarax finally said with a disturbingly sober tone, he knew he should let go of Ravalor but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He felt dizzy. The anger and hatred were still there – but now there was more. Only barely he had been able to contain the chaos he had unleashed. And now it was within him.

Ravalor staggered as his legs gave in, and barely Zenozarax caught him to keep him standing. But at that moment it was there again, that look in his eyes as he looked at Zenozarax now. Fear.

“Ravalor,” he said urgently, taking his friend at both of his arms, looking him directly into his eyes. “I know this must seem –” he searched for the right word, “– insane to you, but listen to me, alright. Everything will be okay. What I’ve done there, it’s alright. I’ve contained the chaos, I have it under control, we’re safe.” He searched Ravalors face for any change of emotion, any reaction, but he just seemed too overwhelmed for any of that.

“What happened there, nobody will ever know. But we have to act now to make it so. Trust me and we will be able to return to things just as they used to be before all that, alright? Does that sound good to you?” he tried for an answer and he imagined seeing the most minuscule of nods from Ravalor.

“Alright. Here’s what I need you to do. Do not reach out to Mezchinar till we’re done with this, let them think we’re gone for good just for the time being. I know you’ve been through hell and this is a lot to ask for, knowing that your other part is going through it, too. But until I fixed this, I can’t have them poking questions at us. Tell me you understand that.”

This time Ravalor actually nodded weakly, not able to take his eyes from his friend that spoke now so feverishly to him.

“You’re safe for now, they won’t search through your brain again anytime soon and I assume, after they did, they should be reasonably convinced that I did you no wrong. I did not make the same mistakes with you that I did with Atladin. You’re good, Ravalor, and they won’t punish you for just being curious.”

“Is that why you killed him?” Ravalor suddenly asked, his voice painfully numb.

“Yes.” but that wasn’t the entire truth. It had been the only option, but it wasn’t why he had wanted to see the wizard suffer in the end. That reason was maybe more unsettling than he cared to admit right now as he still felt the lingering satisfaction from ending that nuisance life. “But that isn’t important now. Because the longer we linger, the greater our problems will grow.”

“What are you talking about?”

Zenozarax took a deep breath. “Come. Let’s sit somewhere. I know you’re exhausted.” Gently he pulled Ravalor through a quick portal to his study, where he helped him to the table and let him sit down. He himself felt too restless to sit.

“Zenozarax – what is the problem?” Ravalor inquired now a lot more tense.

“As I said, I’ve contained the chaos. Well, actually, it’s not the chaos itself that’s the problem now, it’s what I did with it. What I’ve done –” He halted, trying to put it into words. It was a subject he really had only known theoretically, now having the experience of practical application it was harder to put into words. It was disturbingly different than he had imagined it. And impossibly harder to control. “I’ve taken the energy of that place and weaved it into a construct, a curse directly affecting the chaos around – it is a thing and it is now in this world, it’s not corporeal but it does affect the physical world. Like – imagine, the shadow of a tree. If you break off a part of a branch, the shadow does change too. It’s kinda the same here, this all is the shadow, and the entity is the one breaking off the branches. It’s not a perfect comparison but– ”

“Zenozarax.”

He paused in his explanation, realizing how his words had become quick and almost feverish at the end before Ravalor had stopped him, and he instantly knew Ravalor was at the end of his patience merely by the tone of his voice.

“Where is it now?”

Zenozarax actually bit his lower lip in discomfort. He couldn’t even say it so he just vaguely pointed at his own chest.

“Are you insane? And you brought it right here?” Clear terror was in Ravalor’s voice as he seemed to remember too clearly the pure destruction he had witnessed just minutes before. Had it really been only minutes since then? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

On the subject of insanity though, he might be. There was a strong possibility. It wasn’t like it hadn’t crossed his mind the very moment he had realized what power he had unleashed when it almost had ripped him apart too – and he knew he was only able to contain it due to its own inexperience.

“At least we know where it is!”

“OH yes, that is fantastic.” Exasperated, Ravalor drove his fingers through his hair. “By the lords. Tell me how this is supposed to work out? How do you think all this will just resolve itself? You’re a chaos wizard now!”

Zenozarax heard the underlying accusation, the question Ravalor did not ask, questioning if he was even aware of what he had done. Zenozarax was aware. Acutely so.

“The destruction of Atladin and his cult was imperative. Had Mezchinhar gotten hold of him – it wouldn’t only have destroyed my life but tainted yours for the rest of eternity too. What they did to you will have given them the doubt in their suspicion that will be enough for us to emerge from all this with a clear reputation and be free from this stain. If we’re careful now, they don’t have to find out!” At least he hoped so.

“Did you plan for them to do it?”

Zenozarax fell silent at once, a terrible quiet embraced them after Ravalors quiet question. The accusation in the question was filled with so much pain and latent fear that it was strangling.

“I did not! I didn’t want this to happen to you. You have to believe me.” Zenozarax’ jaws clenched tightly, his heart beating hard.

“Then tell me what your plan would have been if it wasn’t to bring Atladin back to Mezchinhar in the first place? Please. Because I don’t see how that would have ended any other way than them doing it anyway.”

I wouldn’t have allowed it! They wanted to get rid of those cultists, that’s all that this was about.

You don’t know that!

Never before had the anger of another been able to deflate his own this drastically. With each word, it was replaced by more and more fear and a dawning realization.

He looked away, for a moment he couldn’t stand the clear and merciless judgment directed at him. Even his words sounded weak to himself when he spoke again, “We could just leave? Leaving all of this behind… I mean with the chaos now, I think… I–”

His words failed him when Ravalor didn’t show any reaction. The silence was terrible.

“I’m sorry, Ravalor.”

Ravalor looked back at him. And it was clear within the grief in his eyes, that his apology was not only badly needed, but utterly pointless too. A world of certainty had just blown to pieces around him, and Zenozarax had been the one igniting the charges.

It was hard to put into words how much seeing that look in his friend’s face hurt. But, in one of those rare moments of reflection, he guessed it would pale to what Ravalor must be feeling right now.

“What is your plan?” Ravalor finally said, his voice sounding so stoically calm, so like he used to, just like nothing had happened, that it was jarring. If it wasn’t for the nervous twitch of his hands, the slight bouncing of his legs and the endless exhaustion in his eyes, Zenozarax would almost believe it. It worried him greatly because he had been a commanding officer long enough to spot the first signs of a wizard breaking down, and knew with everything that had happened today, Ravalor was being pushed dangerously close to that edge. What he needed now more than anything was a clear path forward.

He took a deep breath. Yes, they had to focus on the problem at hand. No matter how much their personal relationship was hurting at this moment, if they didn’t, there soon wouldn’t be anything left to hurt.

“It’s a part of me now, but I need to get rid of this thing before it tears me apart. And probably the planet.” Maybe even more. Who knew where it would stop if it would stop.

“And how do we do that?”

It was terrible, but the mere fact that Ravalor did include himself in whatever plan was being formed now, filled him with relief. He only hoped it wasn’t just out of a sense of responsibility. Zenozarax understood with terrible clarity how far he had pushed their friendship, how much he had just taken it for granted. And it became clear to him now that Ravalors trust in him was not unconditional. That he had shaken on the very foundation of it. That he had to do everything in his power now to right that wrong, to regain that trust he had strained this dramatically. He also knew that trying to make Ravalor understand that he had had to do the things he had for both of them was a very bad idea, no matter how much he wanted to or believed it to be true.

“Actually, I’m not quite sure about that. You have to believe me that this part was definitely not planned. None of that –” His voice trailed off. The memories of what had happened to the cabal was strangely far away. No, not what happened. What he had done. He would do it again in a heartbeat if he had to because it had to be done. If only Ravalor wouldn’t look at him like this for it. “It’s alive now, for the moment I’m stronger than it is as it is still very rudimental, simple even, but it will try to grow, learn and expand. So we have to transfer it to a place where it can do that without harming anything in the process.”

“Like a different dimension?”

“Yes. The deeper the better. Fourth, fifth, all that will ripple, – as I said, that shadow again – with a bit of luck though, maybe going twelfth, thirteen – maybe fifteen should be safe enough and still doable without tearing me apart.” Well, and the planet, but that thought was secondary right now.

“Safe enough,” Ravalor scoffed.

“I’m sorry, I’m really trying to make this right.” He had barely finished the words when he was so taken aback by the sudden anger in Ravalor’s eyes that he couldn’t have said more even if he wanted to. He had never seen his young friend angry, at least not like this, not at him. And he feared that maybe this couldn’t be made right again. Not in the way he wanted to.

“As you said, you better do that quickly,” Ravalor said, his voice strained by tension, holding back his own anger. “I’m sorry that I can’t help you right now, I’m not much use to anyone in my current state. Let me rest while you figure out a plan.” Some of the words could have sounded compassionate, if only they weren’t said with such sharpness. “Come back to me if you know what to do. And I’ll help you fix this. That’s all I will promise you for now. Now go. Let me rest.”

Zenozarax let Ravalors words rush over himself, hearing each so clear and yet it was like he didn’t hear them at all. Didn’t want to. Ravalor had never spoken like that to him, and he had never thought he would. Now that he did, it was filling him with a desperation he didn’t know before. The need to say something, anything, to just make him understand and stop looking at him like this. To soothe the anger – only that he didn’t see any way to do that.

Instead, he just turned around and left. The master of this tower was thrown out of his own study and accepted it with a sense of crippling defeat.

He had never felt this terrible and beaten in his life.

All the while the chaos entity within him clawed at his mind.

13 Blame

He was about to tear his own hair out.

In frustration Zenozarax hit the table with his flat hands, leaning back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.

The task at hand was clear, the urgency couldn’t be greater.

And yet he couldn’t think straight even if his life would depend on it. Well. And it did actually.

Zenozarax looked at the panels covering the ceiling, the light from the lamps burning into his eyes but he didn’t blink. His thoughts were a mess and no matter what he did, it wasn’t getting better.

The urge to just break something, destroy the whole room if he had to, was so strong that it almost seemed like the only thing he realistically could do. But he didn’t. For now he still realized that it wouldn’t help him.

He had made it a clear point of principle to have no form of timekeeping device anywhere inside the tower – and for the first time since that, it made him nervous. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours, maybe half a day actually, but not more, he was sure of it (even though he could not tell), since they had escaped from Atladins lair. He remembered the anger and hate clearly that had made him do what he had done – he remembered it because it was still there just the same. But as to taunt him, it was now weighted up with equal amounts of regret and frustration. Additionally, the thing within him wouldn’t shut up. It wasn’t like it was actually talking, but it was there alright. Not a sound, but still like fingernails scratching over a brick wall till there was nothing left but bone.

All that was pressing down on his thoughts while he needed to find a way to fix all of this and quickly.

And all that with the knowledge that Ravalor –

He blinked. His eyes twitched under a frown. Was it just disappointment? Fear? Anger? Hate? Frustration maybe – would he leave? Would he forgive him? What could he do, now that he had done what he had done? He had to explain himself, he knew that much. Ravalor would understand. He was the only one who would give him at least a chance to do so. This was of vital importance.

He blinked again, he wasn’t looking at anything anymore, at this point the ceiling light might as well have been blinding him and he wouldn’t have noticed.

What he couldn’t fail but notice tough, with a strangely unfamiliar part of his consciousness, was that he again worried more about Ravalor accepting what he had done to save them than the actual, very real possibility, that he had potentially doomed the entire planet should he not find a good way to get rid of the compiled chaos within himself. Unless he would decide to throw himself straight into the next best star (which really wasn’t an option) – and he wasn’t even sure that would do any good.

Self–pity had never been an affliction he had caught even when he had been at his lowest. But apparently, the lowest he had been in the past wasn’t quite the bottom of it all.

What a despicable feeling. Blaming himself.

He sighed, taking his eyes finally from the ceiling as he leaned forward again, back over the console in front of him.

“You don’t look like it’s going too well.”

Zenozarax froze, staring at the console. The unexpected voice was calm, he knew Ravalor would be standing at the door. Probably looking directly at him. His heart had made an unhealthy jump of relief. He had feared Ravalor would probably not want to talk to him anymore at all. That he was now the one seeking him out, Zenozarax wanted to take as a good sign. For all he cared, Ravalor could shout at him if he wanted, as long as he wouldn’t ignore him.

“Slower than I’d like…” he admitted quietly. That wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was an answer to the question. He heard steps coming closer.

“Then let me help you.”

Ravalor appeared beside him, sitting down. Zenozarax barely dared to look at him. The young wizard looked tired, downright exhausted still, and he wondered how much of his rest he had spent thinking instead of resting. From how he looked, most of it. “Thank you.”

Then he added, How are you? He didn’t comment that Ravalor didn’t look alright, he sensed that that would only be fuel on the fire.

I’m okay. Ravalor wasn’t looking at him. And he was so blatantly lying that it hurt. Because of course he wasn’t okay. He was probably the furthest away from okay he had ever been in his entire life. Too much had happened to him and right now Zenozarax was the only person who could help him make sense of the mess in his head. The only person he could talk to, isolated from Mezchinhar and the rest of himself – and the one person he seemingly didn’t really want to talk with.

“What are we looking for?”

“If we speak dimensions, obviously we need a portal,” Zenozarax said, trying to sound as confident as he could manage at the moment.

Ravalor whistled through his teeth, still not looking at him as he took the freedom to take the data Zenozarax was looking at and transferred them to his queue. The markings on his fingers glowing softly as they danced over the smooth surface. “That’s going to be quite a portal.”

“Yes. It will have to be physical, anchored into this dimension. But it should work.” Zenozarax nodded. He appreciated Ravalor not commenting on how much they were definitely not allowed to do this if it were up to Mezchinhar. But it wasn’t up to the Circle and they weren’t exactly swimming in options either. “How solid is your knowledge on this?”

“Basic, I hadn’t thought I would need it anytime soon,” Ravalor admitted, sounding perfectly dispassionate.

“That’s alright. As I said before, we have to go deep. Pass the natural threshold, beyond the tenth dimension or else we risk affecting this universe.” He pulled up an image that would look to any human like an utter mess of lines with no sense beyond them, Ravalor just calmly watched it with dutiful attention as he had done many times before as Zenozarax explained something to him. “The first ten dimensions are bound to this universe, we call them natural dimensions, each universe is able to have its own individual spin on them. Beyond that are the hell dimensions, they break out of the bounds of the universe, passing into the between. There are countless of them, most unreachable for us and everything passing into them is lost to us as it would leave time and space as we know it altogether. Hence – getting this construct to actually be taken in by one of these dimensions would render it ineffective since it can’t progress without time.”

“All right.” Ravalor nodded. “What do we need to make this happen?”

“I put together a list... Well, I’m afraid that was the only thing I managed to do so far.” He shoved the file over to Ravalor.

Then there was silence. Silence in which Zenozarax found himself even more distracted than before, bothered by the urge to say something, but fearing he would draw that anger again he never wanted to see again.

He couldn’t tell how long there was silence other than it had been too long, till Ravalor finally spoke again.

“Tell me what happened with Atladin.”

And Zenozarax understood that it was the one piece in this puzzle Ravalor needed to know, to finalize the judgment about him. Hence, even though a perfectly untactful quip lay on his tongue, to desperately make light of the whole situation, he knew it would be the worst thing he could do now.

Alright. Well, he began, trying to find the right words, fearing the wrong ones would do only more harm than good. But in reality, he had known the words for a long time. “Atladin became my student when things had been a bit – complicated.” He halted “I know this is already starting to sound like I’m going to make a lot of excuses – but it’s what happened. That was still back in Kaltenmoor. Mezchinhar and I weren’t on the best of terms at the time. Atladin was a token, officially a sign of goodwill from their side after they had to drop the charges levied against me. And because I just wanted it to be over, I accepted.

I assume you have figured out by now that what has been done to you now, has happened to me as well. My own meeting with Yettadeimos. That was before Atladin, right after Funnix.

There he paused for a moment, Ravalor wasn’t really looking at him anymore, just listening with an almost clinical detachment in his face. But it couldn’t hide the pain the reminder of Yettadeimos invoked in his eyes.

It should never have happened. Not to Ravalor.

But he stayed soberly silent and so Zenozarax continued his retelling of the past. “There had been many utterly ridiculous accusations thrown around at the time, everyone trying to find someone to take the blame for the mess of that battle. My name had been cleared – well, at least the accusations were dropped due to a lack of concrete evidence, but nonetheless – I had been very bitter and frustrated. Atladin was a good student. And I was a terrible teacher. As all young wizards do, he asked about chaos, and I – did tell him all he wanted to know. It should have stayed at that. But it didn’t. I was angry and spiteful, wanting to act up against Mezchinhar, and I did it by poisoning that young wizard’s mind. I roped him into my own research, trying to learn more about chaos, and in turn taught him the theory of how to use it, how-to guide it… I was so sure I understood it... he sighed as he caught himself losing his train of thought, returning to what actually happened. “Atladin was enamoured with it, soon believing that Mezchinhar’s order was the greatest scourge on universal life, and I let him. It’s not like I didn’t think the same.”

“Do you still?” Ravalor asked, breaking his silence. Their eyes met, and maybe that was answer enough.

Zenozarax kept quiet for a moment, then he said, “We frequented some dark places, bad company in our quest for knowledge – but Atladin crossed a line back then. I acted like a rebellious child, quite shameful as I admit given my age, but true nonetheless. I wanted to fight against order – but I didn’t really think about acting on it. Atladin did. And another wizard paid with his life for my blindness. What he did in detail isn’t important now, but be sure it was the most violent wake-up call I’ve ever received. The situation had been a mess to begin with, but it wouldn’t have had to escalate as it did. It was more like an accident…. an act of passion maybe? Briefly, Zenozarax remembered the moment his own mind had been enveloped by chaos and the intoxicating sense of power. And maybe he did understand it now a bit better. Nevertheless, he said,

I don’t know, I’ve tried to justify what happened ever since. Atladin killed that wizard and I made sure nobody ever knew about it. We parted ways soon after on my request, my silence for his promise to never return.”

Zenozarax paused. Frowning lightly. “Saying it out loud does make it sound quite cowardly on my part.” Shaking his head slightly. “I know I should have turned him in. But I was too concerned about what I would do to my own life. I knew what I had done, and I chose to just make it disappear and ignore it as if it never happened. That’s what happened with Atladin.” The words came easy, he had turned and examined them long enough in his mind ever since it happened, now that he actually spoke them for the first time it felt like a piece of dialogue he had been given and memorized. And it sounded so terribly rehearsed even to his own ears that he barely believed himself to be genuine.

After a moment Ravalor said, “I see.”

Agonizing silence. No apparent judgment, just a plain acknowledgement of his story. Every part within him knew that there were times where staying silent was better than making things worse by not shutting up. But see, that was the fun thing about himself and this freshly discovered self-pity — he just ignored his better judgment even more than usual.

“Ravalor, I’m not that wizard anymore. I regret what happened back then. I regret what happened here now. I’m–”

Ravalor raised his hand, shutting him up immediately without having to say anything himself.

“I know you do.” Then he looked at him, regret in his eyes, too. A look that said that he did believe him, but just didn’t think the reasons for Zenozarax’ regret were those he would like them to be. “I’ll have to think about this. Until then, let’s try to get this figured out.”

And that was that.

And, for the first time since he knew him, Zenozarax experienced the silence of whom he hoped to be still his friend as insufferable.

14 Demitalek

That night – if it was night – Zenozarax didn’t sleep at all.

They had made progress, they had figured out what they needed to do and how. In theory that was. Zenozarax had not told Ravalor, he hadn’t dared to share his pessimistic read of their chance of success, but he knew that they needed things now, information that he didn’t possess. If they would have time, that wouldn’t be a problem, but they didn’t. The chaos construct within him wouldn’t give him the time needed to figure all of this out on their own. Knowledge and experience that countless wizards had worked on over aeons.

They both had been tired, and so Zenozarax had suggested they continue in the morning, rested and with fresh eyes. Ravalor who had been still dead exhausted had not objected. So they parted ways again and went to bed.

But now each time Zenozarax closed his eyes he found them open moments later, staring back into the darkness, just listening to his own mind and nothing at all but the perfect silence of the tower.

Listening to the chaos inside of him, clawing for freedom.

Didn’t they all?

What was his freedom to desire? Freedom from order? Or freedom from consequences maybe. They suddenly seemed to have a way to catch up with him.

He found himself lost in a rabbit hole that seemed to go deeper and deeper, losing himself more and more. From Ravalor to Atladin, to what he even remembered of Funnix, to those people that had been in charge, to Demitalek who had been his technical officer and a friend for a long time before that, to Yoctotyr whom he had been following first to this earth long before the very land above had thawed, who had been studying alongside himself with their teacher aeons ago, who in turn had introduced him to chaos theory in the first place. Once hours must have passed, after having examined his every part, every death, and every being he ever interacted with, he arrived at the point of his own creation, the very moment he had opened his own eyes for the first time in the coldness of Mezchinhar. And a horrible sensation of merciless destiny overcame him, the sudden certainty that all of his existence had been just aiming for him to arrive at this dreadful moment where he was to lose everything dear to him, his own life included, because of the accumulation of every single one of his own decisions.

He arrived at that point and that dreaded self–pity almost suffocated him.

For a moment.

It was a terrible moment. But it was just a moment. Because as he reached what seemed to be the peak of ultimate woe – he made another step forward. And his whole self seemed to fall, tumbling for an eternity till it crashed back onto the hard ground of cold reality.

A strange sense of clarity filled his mind. The world was being clearly divided into two categories. Things he had control over and those he hadn’t. As he couldn’t change the latter, he ought to focus at least on the first.

And he chose that the clear, burning desire of not wanting to die was in the category of things he could at least have an influence on to make it so. No matter the cost.

He stood up.

He got dressed, and whilst his mirror image looked tired, it also looked back at him with a grim determination, complimenting the dramatic robe and cloak. It wasn’t quite yet how he felt – actually he didn’t quite feel like the wizard who used to wear these at all – but it was close enough.

He needed information. Information that was beyond his reach, now that nobody was supposed to know him alive. Once more faced with a problem created by his own pride and the ill will he had seeded within Mezchinhar. But he didn’t see that now. He had left that behind him. The self–pity. The blame. He was done with that. He figured those, too, would catch up with him later again, but for now, at least it was true.

With firm steps Zenozarax went through the portal he opened and arrived momentarily on the other side.

The air was hot and oppressing as he had arrived at a foreign land far beyond the kingdom he had just left. The wizard he had ported to yet unaware of his presence, deeply lost in his work. But as he spoke his name he flinched violently, jumping from his seat.

“Demitalek.”

Demitalek swirled around, staring at him as if he was seeing a ghost. “Zenozarax? How – You’re alive!” relife in his friend’s voice, but more so concern. “What happened? Zenozarax, the entire Circle is searching for you and Ravalor. But as of recently they thought you dead, Ravalor keeps telling them he’s still alive but has been very worried – actually, he isn’t very well. Is he still with you? What happened?” he ended his confused ramble the same way he started it. Zenozarax barely listened to any of it.

“I need your help.”

“My – of course, what do you need?” Concern and worry coloured his friend’s voice. In a distant past Demitalek had been always the first to come to his help, always the last to stand on his side.

Zenozarax’ face was grim as he stepped closer to Demitalek, yes, there was that regret again, making him hesitate. He wished there was another way, but there wasn’t. This had to be done. “I’m sorry, Demitalek, you can’t remember this.”

Demitalek wasn’t on guard. Because he trusted him. Zenozarax figured it a bad sign that this would mark the second person – maybe the third – in a few days that made that mistake. With a sudden move, he grabbed Demitaleks head, his palm pressed against his forehead the moment the runes on his skin started to glow. But they not only glowed, they flickered violently, burning, as it wasn’t just magic that filled them now, but chaos, corrupting Demitalek’s mind. But not only that of this part. But that realisation came already too late.

Zenozarax in horror felt him, not only this body, but his others too, his Wizard, his Warrior, he felt the total control over all three of him in an instant as he took over his entire being. Within a fraction of a second Demitalek had almost slipped away, for a moment he had almost lost him as his now unfamiliar powers behaved in ways he could never have anticipated and instinctively he tightened his grasp over the other’s mind. And he knew immediately that he shouldn’t have done that. Any of this.

The power within himself was in extasis, bursting through his veins, intoxicating his brain.

But still he felt it, in that very moment, something broke, not physical, but there. A horrible realisation as every hope shattered that when all this was over he could make this undone somehow. That they all, Demitalek included, could return to their lives in the end.

Demitalek would never again return to any life.

Zenozarax took a deep shuddering breath. He needed to focus. And so as best as he could, he tried to snuff out the emotions flooding his mind.

Then in the silence of their new unnatural connection, he told Demitalek what he needed, all the information he sought in that dreaded place he could not enter now.

As he drew his hand back, Demitalek only looked at him. There was barely anything left of who he had been before, only a copy wrapped around what was Zhargothrax’ will now. Zenozarax could barely stand looking at his former friend’s eyes now.

Then Demitalek finally nodded. “Of course.” something that might have been a smile on the wizards’ face, or maybe it would have been a smile if he hadn’t just lost his entire sense of self. “Are you alright? You don’t look alright?” Demitalek said almost absentmindedly.

“I will be.” Zenozarax patted his friend’s shoulder, the confusion would fade, as would the pain in his own heart. Probably. Once he left here, Demitalek wouldn’t remember him even having been here, he had made sure of that, his every memory from here on created in a state of utter corruption. And yet without knowing why led only by Zenozarax’ will, he would bring him the information he needed now more than anything else.

“Be careful,” he said as parting words, Demitalek nodded again, his eyes still distant as he watched Zenozarax open a portal and disappear again.

*

As he arrived back in the tower Zenozarax just stood there and then for a while. His heart was racing. He knew things would now work out, and the relief of that knowledge was like a fever. What he had done was terrible, but it had to be done, not only to save himself but this entire planet from the chaos within him.

Demitalek would have helped him by his own free will, Zenozarax didn’t doubt that. But the risk had been too great, way too great, so he had had to do what he had done. He had trusted Demitalek once. But he knew Demitalek trusted Mezchinhar more than him. Maybe he wouldn’t have told them, probably he wouldn’t have, not right away at least – but Zenozarax couldn’t allow him to have this knowledge, this power over his own destiny. Nobody could know.

For his and Ravalor’s sake.

His newfound state of mind had to be kept an absolute secret if he wanted to return to things as they used to be.

He blinked, his rushing thoughts slowed for a moment. To return to things as they used to be. For a moment, he considered what he had done, the path he was on now, and saw how each step seemed to lead him further and further away from that goal. Then he shook his head to himself, trying to focus back on the problem at hand. He would cross that bridge when it came to it, should he actually survive all this. Until then, any hope was wasted time.

He went to the workshop and started working. Preparing for the next steps. Distantly he sensed Demitalek, the other Wizard’s parts now ill fusing with his own memories. He had been alone so long that he had almost forgotten how it felt.

Demitalek would bring him the information he needed. Data on where the fabric of spacetime was thin enough that a portal reaching through dozens of dimensions would even work, as well as data on how to even construct such a portal. He was confident he would get both. The first would be well within Demitaleks restrictions, as he was one of the most influential engineers Mezchinhar had to date, and the second would be an easy task for him exactly because of that point too. And he would be careful because the last thing Zenozarax needed now was a paper trail pointing directly in his direction.

Zenozarax himself wasn’t a novice in this field, he had been an engineer too, well technically he still was, that’s how their friendship had begun in the first place, and the magic behind portals wasn’t unknown to him though it wasn’t his field of proficiency. He had always fancied himself with more exciting magical devices. But he still could guess where to start.

It didn’t take Demitalek too long. If there was one thing good to say about Mezchinhar, then that it was a very efficient place to find information for those with proper rank and title.

The wizard appeared through a portal straight into the workshop, just as Zenozarax had told him to do.

“You know this is insane,” his friend said, having regained the clarity in his eyes, almost perversely sounding like nothing ever happened to him. Zenozarax, however, didn’t think about that as he took the tablet from his friend.

“Aware. I would ask you for a second opinion but I know you –” he let the information flow through his fingers and his voice stopped, his mouth forming a light o. “Is this right? Right there?” Zenozarax asked and Demitalek answered, even though it wasn’t necessary. He already knew. Had known before Demitalek even arrived, he just hadn’t realized. He blinked hard, trying to focus his mind. Something aching in the back of his thoughts.

“I assure you, I checked it thrice myself.”

What a strange turning of fate, or maybe a lucky coincidence. The next place able to even withstand the pull and at the same time providing a thin enough fabric of reality to make a portal like this possible was right here. Well, not right here in the tower beneath Artlenburg, but just a little bit north, right where the river Elba met the sea. They should be able to reach it by the ancient tunnels without anyone even noticing.

He added the information to a secure location in the tower’s own library and fired up the workbenches, magical holograms drowning the room in low blue light. “You should go now. Thank you.” with his last words there was a brief sting in his heart, but he ignored that. He would have to cut him loose eventually, but for now, there might still be some use of keeping him close. Lords knew even with these plans it was a monumental task.

Demitalek nodded and did as he was told. With no further word of goodbye, he disappeared through a portal.

And not a moment too soon. Zenozarax turned around before Ravalor had even entered the workshop. He had known he was on his way the moment the young wizard had left his own room. The entire tower where his eyes now. He wouldn’t leave anything up to chance now.

“Have you started talking to yourself now?” Ravalor asked, and for a surreal moment, the atmosphere around them was like it always had been. Ravalor poking light fun at his more flamboyant attributes, and Zenozarax taking it with fabulous confidence.

“Would you blame me?” he smiled softly, turning back to the holograms. “Come, look at this.”

Ravalor stepped closer, eyeing the information he was presented. Without asking if he could he touched the console and gave it all a deeper look, a slight frown appearing on his face the longer he stayed connected.

“By the lords–” he eventually mumbled, his brows raised again as he looked at Zenozarax “How do you– This might actually work.”

“I know.” he couldn’t help the genuine excitement in his words.

“But right here…” Ravalor seemed worried. “If we build it here–” He halted. “This is a dangerous device.”

“It is. And once we’re done with it, nobody can ever know it’s there. We have to make sure of that. I agree with your worries, be assured of that.” He nodded, maybe he even meant what he said, but in truth, he was more excited to have found the solution as that he could worry too much about future consequences, now looking back at the almost plastid representation of the portal they were about to construct.

He was in awe. Or at least he thought so.

What he didn’t realise for a moment was the dizzying rush in his thoughts as he was taken with the relief that he was talking almost normally with Ravalor wasn’t just that. Not just because he had found a way to make it actually all alright again, that everything would be fine.

The feverish mania in his thoughts didn’t die down, instead, it took hold of his entire body. His every cell started to tingle, it was that moment he first realised that something wasn’t right, and his grin faltered. Ravalor didn’t notice as he was again looking at the data before them, maybe trying to find a flaw in it.

A tightness pressed out from within himself, he felt like he was about to burst. The sudden intensity with which he felt the chaos entity within himself overwhelming him. He could physically feel it trying to brute force its way past the walls he had put around it to contain it. He staggered, grabbing the workbench in the last moment before he would have just fallen.

First now, Ravalor noticed.

“Zenozarax?!”

Faintly Zenozarax was glad to hear the genuine and urgent concern in his friend’s voice if only he could focus on that. The world around him was reaching his mind in balking images, the sounds he heard seemingly several seconds behind from when they occurred. On an objective level, he would have known that this was his mind being overwhelmed, having reached the upper limit of what he could process, but right at this moment, he couldn’t even think about that. Because he really couldn’t.

He barely noticed Ravalor’s hands grabbing him. The world around him seemed to skip. One moment he was close to collapsing, the next he felt his head roll as he sat somewhere, next Ravalor was there again, talking to him, holding him by his shoulders. He was laying somewhere, but he didn’t even recognize his surroundings. He saw them, but he didn’t.

There wasn’t a world around him anymore.

Just chaos.

15 Consequences

Only slowly he came back to his own senses.

The sudden realization that he was staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom. That he lay in his bed with no real concept of how he had gotten there.

Slowly Zenozarax stood up. Still like in trance, taken by the sheer confusion over what had happened, he dressed for his standards in a despicable state of fashion before exiting the room. The grey robe bland without a cloak or jewellery, his hair a mess, beard unkempt. But for just this time, he couldn’t care less.

He walked the ever quiet halls of the tower that were so familiar to him, but right at this moment, he didn’t feel like being there at all. It felt wrong. He felt wrong. He had been somewhere else, hadn’t he?

Zenozarax actually walked to where he remembered he had been last. The workshop. He walked because he wasn’t even sure he could muster the strength to open a portal now, and he wasn’t ready to face the possibility that he couldn’t. He felt terribly weak.

Confusion rose when he heard voices as he approached the workshop.

He entered and felt like his heart stopped as he saw Ravalor and Demitalek talk, focusing on the construct before them.

At first, Ravalor didn’t even notice him, first when, in a strange moment, Demitalek turned towards him, Ravalor did so briefly after.

Zenozarax didn’t even know who’s eyes to meet, his thoughts were sluggish and a screaming panic crawled from the pit of his stomach.

“How are you?”

Zenozarax blinked. Ravalor’s question was the last thing he had expected to hear at this moment. He failed to answer.

A concerned frown appeared on his friend’s face as he came closer.

First, when he had almost reached him he managed to ask “What... why is he here?” but he knew, didn’t he?

Ravalor looked back at Demitalek then at Zenozarax again. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for almost three days. Demitalek arrived shortly after you collapsed. He said he had been helping you.” A light frown on the young face, “You should have told me. Or maybe I should figure that out when you showed me those plans.”

“I’m…” Zenozarax felt like he was about to just lose his consciousness again, he blinked hard, then kept his eyes closed for a moment. Three days? But that couldn’t be – he remembered being here, working on the portal after getting the plans from Demitalek. Together with Ravalor. But then, he didn’t. Wizards didn’t dream – but he felt like he had. Or... Demitalek was quiet. Was he here because he had told him so? Was that what happened? Was the control he had enacted over his friend’s mind the reason he had been overwhelmed or had it been the chaos entity? He realized that it probably wasn’t an or-question, it most likely had been both. His delirious state of mind was probably the very reason why Demitalek was here now.

“I think I need to sit down.”

As he did, Ravalor looked at him worried. “Is it the construct?”

“I think so,” he just answered, already feeling exhausted. The feeling of absolute power he experienced just moments before his tumble into absolute helplessness seemed so far away it might as well never happened. Now he felt just drained and weak. “What have you been doing?” he felt like he already knew. Remembered memories that weren’t his.

“Well.” Ravalor turned to Demitalek who had been uncharacteristically silent so far. Only that Ravalor didn’t notice because he didn’t really know Demitalek, and Zenozarax didn’t have to ask why he was silent. “I started to get this thing actually built – and can’t express how much Demitaleks arrival put me out of a hard place. I admit I was in over my head here.”

Maybe that was it. Maybe he had thought that Demitalek himself would be the best one to oversee this construction. It was a chilling thought. The possibility that he wasn’t fully in control over himself anymore. Over nothing. From the moment the chaos had settled within him, he had been acting upon knowledge he barely understood.

“How far are you?” he heard himself ask, taking a deep breath. Be as it may, this was the situation he was given now, he had to deal with it, and as long as Ravalor wasn’t having any obvious suspicions he was on the safe side just to play along. The only thing he needed to focus on now was to get this damn thing out of himself before this got worse. His mind tingled and at that moment he already knew the answer and it was a most disorientating sensation. Maybe he should have expected that.

Ravalor seemed to expect Demitalek to answer, unaware that he already had, and so when he didn’t say anything he hesitatingly said “Well, we haven’t run into any problems so far. We’re making sure we have all the parts ready to assemble once we’re there.”

“Have you found the place already?”

“No. I figured it would be safer to just stay put till you’re back with us. You’re probably the most experienced with these tunnels of any of us,” Ravalor admitted and Zenozarax just nodded. “And I didn’t want to risk running into anyone.”

“Indeed.” He was glad about that. After a moment he said, Demitalek, can you give us a moment?

He worded it as a question even though he knew he could make the wizard leave them without even uttering a word. And actually, his presence wouldn’t even matter, as Demitaleks mind was still in a state of lingering corruption. But of course – all that, Ravalor did not know.

Demitalek nodded, leaving the room, all under the slightly puzzled frown of Ravalor.

Come, he asked Ravalor to step closer, and he complied.

How are you? he asked softly, meeting his friend’s eyes. He acted like he was doing alright, but Zenozarax knew it couldn’t be so.

As to confirm that Ravalor stayed quiet for a moment too long.

Actually… he said quietly, there was a reluctance, the long friendship between them fighting the concerning truths of the recent developments. For now, the former won. I haven’t slept since. I feel like I’m going insane. And the separation makes it only worse.

I can imagine.

Standing before him Ravalor looked down at him. And for a moment, they both shared the same feeling of what seemed to be overwhelming exhaustion, acknowledging each other’s predicament, feeling for it. Their eyes just lay on each other quietly. Till Ravalor said,

“I can’t believe how quickly things have turned to shit.”

Zenozarax actually chuckled, so taken by surprise over the staggering fact that Ravalor did just curse. He was sure he had never heard him do that before.

“And here I thought there was not much more you could learn here. Believe me Ravalor, that one is a valuable one. Things will hit you broadside, and they will hit hard and quick and out of nowhere. You won’t ever be prepared for everything. You’ll never know everything. But you can at least try to...” his voice trailed off as he lost his train of thoughts, his gaze wandering off to somewhere. Silence again. A deep breath.

I’ve been asking myself what to do now ever since it happened.

He heard Ravalors voice, low and pain–filled.

And I can’t seem to find what is the right thing to do. Realistically I know I should tell Mezchinhar. But I don’t think I can do that. In fact, I almost did, but couldn’t bring myself to do so. But then it’s just history repeating itself, isn’t it? Because this can’t be the end of it, and how long till you become the Atladin to my willful ignorance?”

Zenozarax looked up, wanting to defend himself but fell silent before he could speak as he met Ravalors tired, but eerily calm gaze.

“You say you’re not that wizard anymore. But I don’t think that is true. My problem is that I always knew that. I knew who you are and that but all you do is for your own self serving reasons, any desire acted out whenever it arises, with no consideration or even acknowledgement of the consequences. But I didn’t mind that, because the context never warranted it.” As calm as his eyes were, was the tone in his voice. “I was concerned about the fact that you defended me so vehemently in front of the conflagration but offered up Atadin without even a moment of hesitation. But I didn’t quite understand why until we came back here. You decide over the fate of others not out of principle, but to serve your own needs. And I can’t help but fear, should I decide wrong now, sooner or later I’ll fall victim to that same need.

“I’d never want to hurt you,” Zenozarax said quietly, but desperately genuine.

“I think that is true.” Ravalor nodded somberly. “But I also think there are a lot of things you thought you didn’t want to do, but still did.”

Zenozarax kept silent. He felt like he had been taken apart and his soul laid bare for all to see, as Ravalors words hurt like he never thought words could hurt. Because there was some truth in them. No matter how strongly he instinctively wanted to deny them.

“So what am I to do?” Ravalor still met his eyes downright merciless as he now had finished what had laid on his mind for days. “Knowing the only safe thing for me would be to tell Mezchinhar and leave this behind me. But as your friend, I want to stay. I want us to fix this and leave it behind us. I want to forgive you and I want you to do better. And then I realize that I’m too making it all about me, and what I want.”

Zenozarax stood up, for a moment he feared he would just lose his balance, but he stood, taking hold of Ravalor, maybe to equal part for support but also to give his words the urgency he felt.

“We still can leave all this behind!” he said, his eyes almost feverishly searching Ravalor’s face for the kindness he knew to be buried behind the stoic calm. They wanted the same thing, then why couldn’t they have it? “We will get rid of this thing within me, and we can just – go. There is an infinity out there, countless worlds to explore and learn about, away from the circle and all this… this mess.”

What he wanted Ravalor to do was to jump for joy at the realization that he hadn’t thought of that himself. To just say yes.

He didn’t do that. Instead, he looked at him, very, very tired.

It’s really that easy for you? Just leave? Consequences be damned?

The words were shattering through his mind, the disappointment palpable, not only in Ravalor’s words but in what Zenozarax felt as well. It seemed to him no matter what he did now, he would only disappoint his most valued friend more and more. Helpless frustration strangled him, fueling the anger within him but if that anger was more directed at himself or Ravalor he could not tell.

Ravalor I’m trying to make this right! What would you have me do? Should I’ve just let us die there?!

Ravalor didn’t even flinch as Zenozarax raised his voice. But when he spoke, there was anger in his words too, growing sharper with every sentence.

I wouldn’t have died. And you wouldn’t have had to either if you just had swallowed your pride for just one moment and let Mezchinhar have their way! Nothing of this would have needed to happen!

Zenozarax stared at his friend as if he had just slapped him across the face. The fact that Ravalor was right and there was nothing he could say against it was like an ice-cold dagger through his heart, ripping the neatly stowed-away guilt wide open again.

He let go of Ravalor again, sitting back down in silence as he felt his strength slip away. Ravalor looked down at him, he looked impossibly tired, then he just turned around, returning to the workbench.

A few moments later Demitalek returned to the room. When Ravalor started speaking to the other wizard about the portal, Zenozarax stood up again and left. And that idea of really leaving for good seemed very tempting right this moment, if only there weren’t this problem within him.

16 Rift Space

In the eerie cold shine of the magical light following them over their heads, they walked through the darkness of the ancient tunnels.

Zenozarax had thought he would do this first trip alone, searching for the rift space their dimensional portal was going to be built into. However, despite the tension between them, Ravalor had made a reasonable objection, as he considered Zenozarax’ current state too unstable as that he should go off wandering alone through these tunnels where he might just have another ’moment of weakness. Stating that losing track of Zenozarax and more importantly the chaos entity within him now wasn’t really advisable at this point.

There had been a ridiculous moment when Zenozarax wanted to sarcastically comment on the fact that Ravalor seemed to be more worried about the chaos entity than him, but didn’t, because he did understand that no possible answer would be quite the truth, and the entire moment then felt just depressing and silly.

They had left Demitalek behind to keep on working on the portal (though he wouldn’t make much progress, not while Zenozarax’ attention was taken elsewhere) and started their search for the rift space.

For the first part of the way Zenozarax had ported them straight into the tunnels and surely Ravalor would have been instantly lost with no point of reference of where he was now. But that didn’t matter, he was here to port them back in the case that Zenozarax couldn’t. And that was good. Zenozarax wouldn’t admit it, but he still felt weak. Too much of his strength was now focused on containing the construct within him.

“We’re close already. But I’ve rarely been in these parts.” Zenozarax said and Ravalor kept quiet. In silence, they walked and only occasionally Zenozarax found himself glancing back at his friend. It felt like an eternity ago that they had walked these tunnels the first time, but as to taunt him now, he vividly remembered the gleam in the young wizard’s eyes as he had told him about the structures, showing him their true scale for the first time.

Ravalor never had what anyone would define as a bubbly personality, but below his stoic calm, there had always been a curious excitement about the world around him and all the things he could be learning. An excitement Zenozarax had always been delighted to kindle in his student.

That excitement was gone now. And its absence was harrowing to Zenozarax and slowly grating on his nerves the longer it continued to be missing. But he couldn’t fault him, really.

As he himself held up the magical device which had started to gently hum as it detected the first distortions of the rift space, he felt the utter joylessness of this exercise. This should be exciting! A portal of this kind was a project not many wizards would ever be privileged to undertake and learn about. But as it was, it felt just dreadful.

The pitch in the tone of the device shifted ever so slightly and he lowered it again as they followed the given direction as good as the architecture allowed them to.

“We should be beneath the river now,” Zenozarax noted just to say anything in an attempt to focus on talking to clear the mess in his thoughts, caused by the construct and Demitalek alike.

Ravalor nodded. Then, maybe caving to the same discomfort this silence caused, he added, “I suspected as much. The relative humidity here has risen quite dramatically.”

“How do you even find the headspace to note these things?” Zenozarax asked, surprised to find himself downright amused. Once more that depressing sensation that wanted him to forget that things weren’t quite alright between them right now.

“I find it interesting. Ravalor hesitated, a light frown on his face, a low sigh of resignation, then really giving in. Look. He manipulated the light above them gently, illuminating more of the walls and ceiling. There is a lot of condensation here. And yet this area seems almost untouched by it. But I couldn’t help but notice earlier how we passed a section where the walls had been softened, showing clear erosion. But it was absolutely dry. Not only showing where the river must have been flowing a long time ago but also staggering in suggesting how long these tunnels must have been here already.

Zenozarax hung on his every word, longing for the normalcy between them they conveyed.

I’ve never noticed that. He answered genuinely surprised to be pointed out a new consideration about the tunnels. At the same time, sudden desperation rose as he knew he needed to find something, anything, more to say right now or this sense of normalcy would wither away and suffocate in the silence that would follow. “Isn’t that curious though?”

Ravalor looked at him, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was nothing more than the slight hint of curiosity in his face. For just a moment, the terrible exhaustion and disappointment in his eyes were gone. “In what way?”

“I always thought of these tunnels to have been built for eternity. Whoever constructed them in the first place had at least some advanced understanding of architecture and structural integrity, light years away from the development of the planet when we arrived here first. You would think they would consider something simple as water erosion.” He almost forgot to check the device in his hands again, barely paying attention to it. He raised it and they adjusted their way accordingly.

“Hm.” Ravalor considered that for a moment before he said, “an advanced civilisation then, you think? I’m not sure I’d fully prescribe to that. I’m not saying they weren’t advanced, but I think you underestimate what even a simple civilization can archive with time and work. These tunnels are impressive, sure, but I don’t see anything that suggests to me that they knew more than how to build very large tunnels. Or how thousands of years of water erosion would affect the structure.”

“I think we’re clashing in our definitions of advanced here.” Zenozarax frowned slightly, but not in irritation, rather in thought. “When I say advanced I mean relative to what we saw when we came here. This planet was a mess, arising just from centuries of fire and ice. What few people there were, were of the simplest kind, only striving for sheer survival.”

“It probably wasn’t the first time.” Ravalor mused. “Maybe something similar had happened before, driving the population underground where they created this. Isn’t that what happened to the dwarves originally?”

“Compelling. I grant you that. And surely not absolutely unlikely. But wouldn’t we see more signs of cities? More than those the Dwarves build in recent history? Places where they would have lived.”

Ravalor frowned, a good counter-argument he had no concrete proof against. “Yes, you would think so… Maybe there are. Deeper below? As you said, not even we have a full overview of their true scale and depth.”

Zenozarax nodded, willingly conceding the point, but before he could have said more, the device in his hand started to hum louder and he raised it again. Cursing it silently. “We’re close now, this thing is going on the frizz. Never seen it act up like this.” He nodded forward to their left and they took the turn.

“I can feel it,” Ravalor whispered as if they suddenly had passed an invisible threshold to a place they weren’t supposed to be. Maybe that was true. “Do you see that?”

I sure do.” The tunnel had opened up into a massive hall, and invisible to the human eye he saw the dimensions in tension. Distantly but no less concerning he noticed how distant Demitalke was now as if the dimensional distortion was like a thick piece of cloth laid over his connection to the wizard under his control. Unexpectedly, but not really surprisingly so, he noticed how it actually made it easier to think.

“They must have been able to feel it, too,” Ravalor mumbled as they stepped closer and he brightened the light, looking at the hall around them, held up by massive stone pillars that had been chiselled right from the stone. “This place seems to hold significance.”

“If I can give you one good piece of advice here, do not try to open a normal portal here,” Zenozarax said as he looked still at the device, trying to locate the rifts centre point. The readings he got back were erratic and he feared the entire thing would just give up sooner than later.

“I can assume it would have unintended consequences. What would happen?”

“Probably tear you apart,” Zenozarax mumbled as he turned according to the device’s readings.

“Probably?”

Zenozarax looked up by the downright amused scoff in Ravalor’s voice, a plain look on his face. “It’s not like there has been extensive study on this given that the first few times someone tried to open a portal in a rift space they were no longer a thing afterwards. Makes long term research rather hard.”

“Fair enough.”

“Makes one kinda nervous, too.” Zenozarax followed the erratic hum deeper into the room. “Considering every time you port somewhere, you might end up dropping into one of these by accident and then poof. That’s been that. The chance might be impossibly small but still.”

“Do these just appear?”

Rarely, most are as old as the universe itself they belong to, growing with it. But they are really stable once they formed. For the most part. Wouldn’t recommend mindlessly fucking with them.

Isn’t that exactly what we’re doing.

We’re responsibly fucking with it.

Right.

There it is. Zenozarax looked up from the device again and paused. Well, in retrospect I should have figured that one out.

Ravalor joined him standing before what seemed a massive stone altar on a slight elevation, marking the centre of the hall. Despite its age, it looked remarkably well preserved, the geometric patterns chiselled into the smoothed stone were crisp and only softly covered with dust. A large, magnificently cut gemstone was embedded in its centre, now reflecting their magical light in a thousand different angles, and it was a miracle it hadn’t been poached in the past millennia by one of the few wanderers in these tunnels.

Zenozarax clenched his jaw tight, merely mumbling his word through his teeth, That’s not good.

What now? Ravalor raised his brows, looking back at the altar, then Zenozarax again, trying to figure out what the problem was.

We’ll have to build around it. Maybe tear some of it down. I don’t like it. Zenozarax’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms after turning off the device.

Ravalor plainly looked at him. Are you seriously going superstitious on this one now?

If you live as long as I have you learn that sometimes old shit really is just bad, alright.

Listen, I can accept the prophecy nonsense, but this goes too far. It’s by all readings just a primitive stone altar!

Nonsense?? Okay, alright, maybe it is just an altar, maybe it is the very thing holding this rift together somehow. Maybe those that built this were that advanced after all. Don’t be so close-minded now!

They looked at each other, and suddenly what would have been a normal, even if heated, discussion between them, left a bitter note. Both fell silent. And both felt sorry for their own reasons.

I miss this.

I know. Ravalor had turned away, his voice sober and calm. There was nothing to be said on the topic afterwards.

“Let’s get back home,” Zenozarax said, trying to ignore the maddening frustration within him while he put the device into his bag. “I’ll mark the position. We just have to make some distance between us and the place for porting… as I said.”

“Alright.”

17 Construction

The rift space seemed to almost sizzle around him. His hands flat on the ancient altar, his head lowered.

He had just wanted to check again for the structural integrity of the base they were building the damn portal on. Paranoid and tense as he was he tried to locate any magic or weaknesses in the ancient structures that would cause the whole operation to quite literally blow up in their face.

There was nothing. It was safe.

But Zenozarax knew it really wasn’t. And now that he stood there, for a moment quiet, for a moment not trying to keep in motion and constantly finding anything to do, he felt the tension within himself strangling him.

The anxious feeling had become downright unbearable. The reasons for it; a list getting longer and longer.

The entity within himself now clawing at the very atoms that made up his body and it became harder and harder to hold it at bay.

He knew they hadn’t much more time left till he would break and his own mind corrupted, letting free this awful construct of his own creation. Killing him in the process.

He knew he should never have done it. His own ignorance the cause for most of his anger.

Ravalor did not know how close he was to breaking, he hadn’t told him. There was suddenly so much he didn’t tell him. It never had been like that.

Maybe he should have known the very moment he had lied to Ravalor about bringing Atladin to the Circle. When he had truly lied to him for the first time since they knew each other. He had always been a dreadful liar and he had seen it in Ravalors face that he had noticed it. He just hadn’t known what it was. Maybe hadn’t even considered the possibility that Zenozarax would lie to him.

He was a hypocrite and a fool, who had preached truthfulness and who had known that no good thing ever came from lies. Now he didn’t want to lie again. But speaking true would just take from him all that little that was left of what he held dear. And so he rather not speak at all.

Not about Mezchinhar, not about Demitalek. Not about Chaos. And most importantly, not about himself.

But his weakened state probably wasn’t something he actually had to put into words. When Ravalor looked at him these days he saw the concern.

All of them worked as hard and as quickly as they could. Ravalor had demanded Zenozarax to take rest, just to keep him somewhat stable, while Ravalor himself looked at this point as if he hadn’t slept in days. Which most likely was true.

Demitalek was there, or what was left of him now having turned utterly silent, and he was a problem. A strain on Zenozarax consciousness, but absolutely not expendable help in the task at hand. He really needed to get rid of him, but he couldn’t. His artificial grasp over Demitalekt had become a burden as he had to maneuver each part of him manually, focusing on them when he shouldn’t. He had retreated with Demitalek’s Wizard into his chamber in Mezchinhar where he had been lying still for the last few days. Demitalek’s Warrior was the worst, as his deteriorating personality drew the attention of the wizards around him. All the while he needed the Engineer to help them.

Paradoxically, right now given the attention he drew from Zenozarax, Demitalek was of more use than he himself. And his absence would only raise Ravalors suspicion.

And he needed Ravalor. Not only as a friend but also to make sure this cursed entity would truly vanish deep into the dimensions. With his deteriorating state, he had come to accept that he no longer could do it alone. For the final step, Demitalek was out of the question, because he was for all intents and purposes Zenozarax right now. His help wouldn’t grant him any more control over the construct. So it had to be Ravalor. There was no other way.

He didn’t want that. But what else could he do now?

In the end, it came all down to one simple and yet terrifying fact.

He didn’t want to die.

The dread of mortality crushing down onto him, the fear that he suddenly had run out of this terribly annoying thing called time he had never considered of much importance. And it was all because of the things he himself had done.

A low thump yanked him out of his spiralling thoughts and startled he turned around.

Ravalor had put down another one of the crates containing parts of the portal. It was a tedious task to bring them all here more or less by hand as they had to port them in at a distance and carry them to the rift space. But at least they had everything they needed and had not been forced to take unnecessary risk in acquiring the needed materials for the portal. Right now it seemed to have been the singular good thing about his chosen life away from the circle’s influences. Over the centuries, the lower levels of the tower had filled up with all the resources a wizard could ever ask for, just so he could work in peace without having to place material requisitions with Mezchinhar.  

Almost done, Ravalor noted, painfully neutral, eying the ring Zenozarax stood within. It wasn’t particularly nice to look at, but it was sturdy and, hopefully, functional.

Zenozarax didn’t follow Ravalor’s gaze but mustered his friend who looked awful. His eyes looked more tired than ever, the unkempt hair shoved into a quick ponytail, hands dirty by machining oil and scratched by metal, the black robe dusty from the work in the tunnels. Zenozarax hadn’t been out gambling in a long time, but right now he would stake his every belonging on the bet that of all three of them, Ravalor would be the next to just drop unconscious by sheer exhaustion. Just because of him.

Have you thought about it? Zenozarax asked. For a moment there was just this blank expression on Ravalors face, before he asked,

About what?

Leaving.

Ravalor kept quiet for a moment, meeting his eyes but too tired to really see him. No.

Silence.

We’re almost done here. Zenozarax said, just repeating what Ravalor had already said.

Ravalor nodded, then turned to the crate and opened it. Getting back to work.

“Ravalor.” Zenozarax stepped down the light elevation – Ravalor didn’t look at him, squatting before the crate and keeping himself busy with unpacking the delicate parts. “I can’t do this alone. Not anymore. I’ll need you to help me.”

“I know. I mean, I suspected as much.” Ravalor said, still not looking at him. But he halted in unpacking the parts. “But why me? Demitalek is much more experienced.”

Silence strangled his throat. He didn’t want to lie. Not again. Ravalor looked up to him.

“He can’t do it.” Zenozarax finally said. And he knew it wasn’t the right thing to say. He saw it clearly in Ravalors eyes that had silently begged him to tell him the truth. “He shouldn’t even be here – with his other parts, he won’t have the focus to do–”

“Okay,” Ravalor said, cutting him off as he looked away again, focusing again on the parts.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Ravalor halted again. Looking back up. “I don’t really have another option in all this anymore.”

“But you do. You can still go back.” Zenozarax reminded him. And he was surprised that he did so. Should Ravalor decide to go, he, Zenozarax, would die. Be it by the construct, or Mezchinhar’s hand when they found out. And he didn’t want to die, desperately so. But even less he wanted Ravalor to feel like he had no choice in all of this – because then he would be no better than the wizards he despised so much.

“No.” Ravalor shook his head, standing up, meeting his eyes finally head–on. “I don’t want you to die. Even if it’s selfish on my part. I made my decision, now I have to live with it.”  Behind the exhaustion in his words, the almost preachy judgment was hard to miss. And he had every right to it, Zenozarax would admit. They were both making decisions now they had to live with, no way around it.

A brief moment of that dreadful silence set in again, and then, despite his better judgment, knowing that this wasn’t the time and place to bring it up, Zenozarax said, “Listen, Ravalor, about what happened back there in the cave–”

Ravalor only weakly raised his hand, “Don’t.” How it was possible that he suddenly sounded even more tired than before was sorcery. “I don’t want to talk about that now. When all this is over, maybe. But not now.”

And that was that. Zenozarax had nothing else he could say after that as Ravalor turned away from him again.

Demitalek entered the chamber with another crate. It was the last one.

Quietly Zenozarax went over to the consoles while Demitalek went to the portal. It was quiet, with only the low hum of the rift space filling their heads. It had been consistently the only sound in this room while they worked. There was no dialogue, no discussion or small talk. Just all of them grimly working towards the finalization of the portal.

This stayed true for the following few hours till they finally ran out of prepared parts. Zenozarax watched Ravalor take a step back and waited till Demitalkek emerged from the open access panel directly on the portal, closing it as he did so.

Then he said, Let’s check everything, and one more time in the morning before we fire it up. I want all of us rested when we do this.

Ravalor nodded, he looked like the mere idea of sleep made his knees weak. Demitalek showed no reaction. His former friend’s personality had decayed further and further in the past days. And Zenozarax had no energy left to make him pretend. So he just avoided looking at him.

The regret had become a numb ache, always there somewhere in his heart, but he knew it didn’t matter. Because this, all of it, had to be done. And yet, when he thought about what still needed to be done, the regret grew from an aching to a hard painful grasp that almost strangled him.

But he had forced fate’s hand and he now had to play the cards handed to him.

It had to be done.

18 Portal

Zenozarax hadn’t believed he would be able to sleep, and yet he did. He woke up early – and it was a strange sensation as he realised that he only knew it to be early morning because what was left of Demitalek still possessed a sense of time. Not that it mattered, the time of day was inconsequential for anything they did down here, but it was early enough that the sun up top had probably not yet risen.

He still felt tired, but that tiredness had settled in his bones days ago and no amount of sleep could get rid of it.

Slowly Zenozarax got up, for a moment he sat at the edge of his bed. His hand brushing over the fine fabric of the bedsheet before settling on his lap as he took in the splendour around him. The stunning artworks on the walls, the masterful craftsmanship of furniture and gilded metal, extravagant staffs which crystals softly glowed in all colours of the rainbow. The tastefully dim light reflecting on decor and glitter of maybe a few too many mirrors. The sheer amount of gemstones in only this room alone would be able to buy the entire land above ground five times over. But it had no monetary value to him or any wizard. Gold, silver, rubies and diamonds – all of that overabundant within their grasp – but he enjoyed it, simply because it was pretty.

Right now, however, the pomp and splendour around him felt wrong. It was colourful, joyful and blithe – and he and the grim expression on his face didn’t belong.

When he was about to get dressed, as he looked at himself in the mirror, he halted. The strange sensation of not being the wizard looking back at him overcame him. A disconnect common with wizards using drastically different bodies than the one they got used to. But in this case?

Without giving it even a second thought he stepped to the mirror. And cut his hair.

Without hesitation, long strands of the dark waves dropped to the counter to be forgotten between rings and necklaces. The haircut he chose had once been favoured by his Warrior before his death. Still fabulous, but more manageable in a fight. It made him feel better. More right.

His fingers brushed through the short hair at the sides of his head before tying the rest of his hair into a firm knot.

It felt more right because now he was walking into a fight. And it would be a straining one. His Warrior had died facing the chaos. Now he might follow him into the void.

Then he got dressed, leaving the room soon after. His restlessness had become almost unbearable as of late, but now that the final battle lay before him, now that there was nothing left but clearly defined actions, his mind became more focused. Sharper.

The tower was quiet.

When Zenozarax gently knocked at the door the sound seemed to echo softly in the silence. He wasn’t quite sure why he knocked, because not even a second after he had done so the door was opened.

Demitalek didn’t look good.

“May I come in?” asking for the same reason he had knocked. Just pretending still. Denial.

There wasn’t an answer, just a faint nod, another act of pretence. He didn’t want to hear his former friend’s voice now. Zargothax entered, closing the door behind him.

For a moment there was silence as Zenozarax looked into Demitalek’s eyes. Deep within them, there might still was something stirring, palpable fear of the one he had once been. Still, something left of his friend. Or his own mind was just torturing him, pretending to see it.

Gently Zenozarax took Demitalek by his arms, giving his shoulders a light squeeze as he said, “Thank you Demitalek. For all you’ve done for me. I wish It wouldn’t be so, but I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve been a great help.” still meeting the dull dark eyes. “And a good friend.”

Why was he saying that? What did it matter? Demitalek was already long gone, and he knew that. And yet...

His heart ached. “I’m sorry.” He raised his hands and took a firm hold of Demitalkeks head. I’m so… sorry. By the cruelty of his own mind, he thought he saw something behind the dark eyes, something that screamed, something that begged, taken by terror. But the wizard at his mercy and control stayed quiet as Zenozarax’ eyes started to glow. The connection between them suddenly severed, his own mind taken over by relife as the constant strain was lifted from him while it left Demitalek’s mind in shambles. But not for long.

With once a massive burst of magic, channelling pure energy from the dark matter around them, shot through Zenozarax’ arms, burning painfully through the ancient markings, and straight into Demitalek’s head.

And for a moment he felt him again, felt each one of Demitalek, felt how he died, one by one, within the fraction of a second as his broken mind was burned to ashes. The body before him became limp, falling dead to the ground. Zenozarax hands still where they had been, trembling.

Only slowly he lowered them. It still burned through the magical runes running up his arms. With shaken calm he looked at the empty husk lying before him now. He tried to breathing deep and heavy. This had to be done. He hadn’t wanted to. But had to.

Quickly he opened a portal around the lifeless body and for a second the air in the room whistled as it was pulled through the portal, and so was the body, falling into space, to be never found again. When the portal closed again, it left no trace that anything had happened in this room.

There was no blood. No signs of a fight.

Only the lingering burning in his fingers. The ancient markings were now lined by sore skin.

He stared at his hands, the only proof of what he had done.

*

The tower was quiet.

Zenozarax gently knocked at the door and the sound seemed to echo softly in the silence.

The knock was more gentle now as it was dampened by thin leather gloves. It hurt against the sore skin.

This time it took longer.

Ravalor opened the door. He didn’t look too good either. But in a different way, though maybe not much less lost than Demitalek before him. Zenozarax was first greeted with a dry, humourless chuckle.

“We’re about to open a hell portal and you got a haircut?”

“We talked about this. Expressing oneself. It’s important.” His own answer lacked any of the lightheartedness the words would convey.

Ravalor was already ready to go and stepped out into the hallway closing the door behind him.

What’s with that look? Zenozarax asked, eager to distract his own thoughts as he noticed the thoughtful expression on Ravalor’s face before they turned to leave.

I’m pretty sure you never wore your hair like this in my presence and yet it seems eerily familiar to me.

Maybe it’s your so–called impressions again. Zenozarax mused From the Soldier, I mean. I wore it like this at Funnix.

Hm.

Ready? Zenozarax opened the portal before them leading near the rift space.

Isn’t Demitalek coming?

No. He couldn’t meet Ravalors eyes. He’s been called away urgently.

Ravalor frowned slightly Urgently? What for?

I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. Come. Let’s get this over with.

After he stepped through the portal it took a moment till Ravalor followed him. Zenozarax still avoided looking at him. Nothing would be worse than seeing doubt or suspicion on his friend’s face now, so he rather didn’t look at all.

It had to be done.

In silence, they checked every part, every wire and command again. And they took so long that both realised that they were stalling for time.

“I guess it should work,” Zenozarax finally said and Ravalor nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright. I can do it.”

He hoped so. Zenozarax stood in front of the altar which now was covered with panels and input screens. “Okay, stand right there. And don’t move.”

Ravalor took the spot he pointed out.

“If you–” he halted, frowning. Chances were good if this went wrong this would be ending up as a double suicide, he knew that. Ravalor did so too, and there weren’t words strong enough to express how glad he was that the young wizard had decided to see this through with him, despite the risk. And how much he regretted it too. “We only have 2.45 seconds before the portal shuts down again.”

“I know.“

2.45 seconds was the longest any of them dared to keep this hellish thing open reaching this deep into the dimensions. Anything longer, and without the proper knowledge and magic the portal might just rip itself apart, or worse even, pull something from or to either side they couldn’t even imagine. 2.45 seconds was already terribly long. He knew there had been some research done into making these things more stable, more manageable, entire galaxies and universes worshipping whatever madness lay on the other side, but that knowledge and the tools required had been out of his reach.

Slowly he set up the start sequence, for a moment his fingers hovered above the console as he was to confirm it, the final peak of the fear of death. Then he pushed down on it, he flinched slightly as he still felt the burning in his arms from before, but that was forgotten as the portal started to sizzle.

Quickly he got to Ravalor, both watching the portal in tense awe.

The countdown started from 10.

“Don’t kill me,” Zenozarax whispered, removing his left glove and holding his hand out to Ravalor.

For a second Ravalor’s eyes undoubtedly caught the unhealthy looking markings, the redness of the skin around them making them look like pale scars on his skin. Another second in which he looked up, but there was no more time to question anything, to make assumptions or to doubt. The countdown went on.

“I’ll try.” Ravalor nodded gravely as he took his hand. A low glow went through the markings as a faint connection was established.

Zenozarax felt Ravalor hand clench at the now unexpected sensation between them, a sensation utterly foreign to him as chaos infected his mind too, and Zenozarax’ heart ached.

The last seconds.

One.

Then the portal before them opened up with a violent snap, whirling in front of them, showing fractures of things they couldn’t even comprehend, a mass of colours and light, horrifyingly beautiful and terribly dangerous, as both of them felt, that when they stared into it, something else stared back at them.

But both knew they had no time for awe. With all his power Zenozarax channelled the entity, his arms felt like they were on fire, his mind started to screech in pain, and then he felt the pull, as he pushed, and Ravalor dragged the construct from him at the same time. Magical light arched from their intertwined hands. He felt Ravalor wince in pain but he kept the grasp tight. For a moment it was with them, free, not in the room but beyond that, all around them, ready to consume – but with a last final push, it sank into the portal, dragged deep within it the moment it connected.

The light became so bright it burned in both their eyes, the sound was deafening, throbbing and disorientating, the whole world around them was shaking, trembling, aching. Distantly tunnels around them were reduced to rubble when the earth shook more violently than nature ever could.

And then, after 2.45 seconds, it was over.

The Portal went dark in an instance, only a light glimmer kept floating in the air for a moment before the room turned pitch black and silent. Seemingly for an eternity.

Ravalor dragged his hand from Zenozarax’ still tight and tense grasp, the connection between them broke. Both their hands left with a slight tremor as their bodies tried to overcome the massive amounts of magic that had filled them just moments ago.

“How did you even manage to hold it for so long…” Ravalor mumbled distantly. “It was awful.” He staggered a bit, reaching for his head. I think I need to…

Zenozarax barely heard him. His mind spiralling.

It had worked, it had actually worked! And he was still alive. Strangely enough, it was first now that he realised that he had barely believed in it in the first place. Reflexively he summoned a small light, immediately being reminded of the pain in his arms, and looked at Ravalor, who was saying something he didn’t hear. It was over – almost – and now that he was still alive, he knew there was only one thing he could do. Too great was the mess he had caused here.

“Ravalor.”

His young friend met his eyes. The only friend he had left. Who might not even saw him as a friend anymore. At least not one he could trust.

“Have you thought about it?”

Silence.

Ravalor looking away.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

No matter how much it hurt now, Zenozarax had known it to be so. Had known it would eventually come to this answer since the first time he had asked the question.

Almost forcing himself to look back at Zenozarax Ravalor said “We can’t simply leave now. Not with this here. Even if we hide it. It is so dangerous, Zenozarax.”

“I know. But nobody will ever know it’s here.”

“Hopefully. But I’ll stay here to make sure of that. People accidentally stumbled over your tower once and you moved your entire tower because of it, but we can’t have them stumble over this. We can’t move it. I know you want to leave, and if you have to – I won’t stop you. And I won’t tell them.”

Zenozarax couldn’t tell if Ravalor hadn’t realised what had happened to him — or if it was pure denial. If he stayed here, he would die by the Orders hands sooner rather than later.

Solemnly Zenozarax turned away from Ravalor. Looking at the damn portal that was now anchored to this place. A gateway to hells beyond human imagination, a ticking time bomb, but how long that timer was, nobody could know. He wished they could simply destroy it again. But that would have been too easy. No. The portal was now directly linked into the rift space – any attempt to destroy it would most likely rip the rift space itself apart. The consequences of that he could vividly imagine.

It all came down to that, didn’t it? Consequences. The thing he had run from for so long, thinking successfully, finally having crashed down on him. But he wouldn’t be the only one having to bear them now, was he?

“We can’t stay. You know that,” he said, still looking at the portal and nothing at all. “I’ve done too much. Maybe we would be fine for a while. But it will come out. All of it. Not least of all because you’re part of it, too.”

Ravalor didn’t say anything to that.

“I don’t think I can be a wizard of Mezchinhar anymore. Even if I tried. I let that chaos into my mind, and it will always be there now. And you know what? I think I’ve done this before. I think all the accusations had been true after all. Because when I took that power, it felt familiar to me. I think I killed us once before.” Only raising his hands halfway he looked at them. He could see clearly where the chaos magic had burned through the markings.

“Zenozarax?”

“I know you doubt destiny. But there might be something to it, don’t you think? I’ve been on this path for a long time. I can’t return. I don’t want to. Not for having to live with the knowledge that one day they will decide over my fate and life. Always with the fear in the back of my mind. But you still can. And I won’t have my decisions ruin your life. You should not suffer the consequences for my actions.” If he had thought his heart was aching before, he didn’t know what this feeling was now. It was strangling him, killing something deep inside of him and it hurt like hell.

The marking in his hands started to glow in accordance with his eyes.

“Zenozarax? What–”

Ravalor’s words were cut off as a violent blast threw him to the ground, his whole body spasming for a second with the sheer amount of magic. He gasped, disoriented, dizzy and barely in control over his motion.

Slowly Zenozarax walked over to the young wizard laying on the ground helplessly. Just like Atladin had. He dropped to his knees beside him.

“I’m so sorry, Ravalor. For all of it.” He took the young wizard, his hand laying softly against his face. “Don’t!” Another shock went through the young wizard as he saw a light glow appear in the dark eyes. “If you reconnect with Mezchinar now, your life will be tainted forever. I can’t let you do that. There is now chaos in you, too.”

“Don’t–” Ravalor gasped, begging, pleading desperation in his eyes – he knew and he had accepted it to save his life, but Zenozarax wouldn’t let him keep it. “–you don’t have to–”

“I do. I dragged you into all of this, you don’t deserve to live with it. Take these memories into the void to be forgotten forever. Remember me as your friend. As will I.”

Ravalor swallowed, his hand trembling as he tried to grasp for Zenozarax’. But before his hand could take hold of him, a violent shock went through his entire body. And then he was still.

Dead.

Zenozarax could barely breathe. The pain was maddening. He had never cried. He didn’t now. But he wished he could. Grief. Regret. Pain. He wanted to scream and tear the whole world around him apart. His heart shattered and yet the pain did not stop while he held the dead body pressed against his chest, cowering over it like the mere closeness would change anything.

It didn’t. Only time slowly turned everything he felt to numbness.

In the end, he just took Ravalor’s lifeless body and stood up.

Carrying what was now not more than a lifeless husk away from the portal. When he thought himself far enough away, he mustered barely the strength to open a portal back to the tower, where he then promptly appeared in Ravalor’s room.

With a sense of excruciating nostalgia he lay the body into the bed he had occupied for so long. There was no way he could do to him what he had done to Demitalek. So this was the only place he knew where he could leave him that wouldn’t tear his soul apart. Maybe he would be found soon. Maybe they would suspect it had been him. But at least Ravalor didn’t know anything about it. At least nobody, not even Ravalor himself, now knew what they had done. What he had done.

And by the cursed lords, he hoped it would be enough. To just let his friend live his life away from the misery and chaos he had caused.

For a long time, he just stood there, staring at the lifeless face.

Two times they had met. Two times both had died. Just that this time he himself was still walking away. But he knew he never would be that wizard again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered one last time.

Then he turned around.

A portal.

Then he was gone.

The tower quiet.

Deserted now bar the lifeless corpse of the young Wizard of Artlenburg.

19 Epilogue: Stade

It was early in the morning, the sea whispered softly only interrupted by the harsh calls of seagulls when the world shook violently.

The wizard that had been in Stade for a long time was abruptly ripped from his sleep as the earthquake tore through the land for just a second or two and it left him disoriented for a few seconds longer. The tremor was gone before he truly was awake, and he almost doubted it ever had happened if it would be for the clear signs of disarray the earthquake had left. His own belongings scattered in the room, some broken, others just had fallen.

But now it was calm again. The morning sun fell through a gap in the curtains that softly moved in the soft breeze. Only distantly he could hear the fearful and confused voices shouting down at the harbour. Someone even screamed. The house around him gave a worrying groan – but it still stood.

He barely perceived any of it as he felt an ice-old shudder of fear running down his spine.

For the moment he didn’t even consider where he was, when he was, or why. The sensation crushing down his soul was staggering, a feeling of dread, faint ideas of absolut destruction and war. Who was fighting and when he did not know, but he knew it was coming. Something had happened. Something out of time had pulled on the strings of destiny and fate and the dramatic change this universe’s future might have taken was dizzying even though he barely could put it into words, barely understood what it meant.

A hard knock on the door, someone calling his name, calling for help. People must have been injured during the earthquake. But he didn’t want to hear it and the voice slowly turned from desperate to concerned. He needed to focus. If only they would be quiet.

The wizard took a deep breath, trying to remember, to see, focusing his mind to read what time tried to tell him.

But it was just more death. A feeling of countless souls vanishing, chaos ripping through the fabric of space.

And above all. A name. Vague and distant, fleeting like water running through his fingers before he remembered and the wizard couldn’t even tell if it was the name of a place or a person because he didn’t know either place or person with that name.

But he knew. He sensed its inevitability.

Treva would fall.

20 Epilogue: Funnix

The storm was raging around him. It did so with the same force and anger as it had since Funnix and all the land around it had been violently torn to pieces, the earth ruptured and cursed for eternity.

Chaos torn and ripped apart from its natural state centuries ago sizzled in the air, crashing down onto the storm tide and what was left of the land scattered as helpless islands in the sea. It felt like it welcomed him. It was clear and powerful, enveloping his mind, tempting him with the idea that he could control it. If only he tried harder.

Zenozarax stood in the open, his head raised to the apocalyptic storm, standing there, giving himself up to its mercy while having to steady his stance against the winds. The rain was so strong it was painfully hitting him broadside, carried by the winds. Salt and seafoam whirled in the air. The noise around was absolut. A constant and deafening howl of agony.

It would take a while till anyone would find Ravalor. Till anyone could even start to assume that he, Zenozarax, was still alive. So while this place might have been the first place anyone would start looking for him, based on Ravalor’s knowledge, he knew he wasn’t in danger yet. Couldn’t be.

And for the moment, it was the only place he knew to go to. He felt lost. And so he just stood there a moment longer, his robe long drenched to the skin. A violent lightning strike impacted not too far away from him, but he barely reacted. He still didn’t want to die and he knew the longer he stayed out here in the open, the more likely it became that he was actually hit sooner or later by one of these thunder strikes. But he couldn’t move. Didn’t know where to.

He had killed Demitalek, his oldest friend.

He had lost Ravalor, the only wizard he had ever trusted unconditionally.

And what for?

For being still alive while having lost everything? Tainted by chaos to never be able to return to the only way of life he knew?

The feverish mania of the last days was gone. His thoughts were clear and sober. And they returned again and again to that one question.

What for?

He was a wizard without a purpose now. Cut loose from Mezchinhar’s iron-fist rule. He had dreamed of that – but not for this price. But now that he was here, he also knew it had been just that, a dream. He wouldn’t be free now. He would never again be able to walk through time without watching his back till one day the forces of Order would strike him down.

Was this his destiny? To be a fugitive forevermore?

He didn’t want to believe that.

Suddenly his eyes were drawn down to the entrance of the caves. His heart made an unhealthy stumble of surprise, but his brain was too numb as to be reasonably shocked to see anyone here.

The man appearing against the darkness seemed eerily familiar. Their eyes met, and there was the undeniable look in the other’s face that he had been expecting him. That too didn’t surprise him.

Like watching himself Zenozarax felt his legs move, approaching the stranger.

He was tall, maybe just a bit taller than Ravalor, the hair black, face clean shaved – and his eyes a pitch-black darkness. But he didn’t have to look into his eyes to know he stood in front of another wizard. He felt it. The chaos inside of him recognized the chaos within the other as neither of them bothered to hide it.

The oppressing noise was a bit quieter when he entered the cave, the sudden lack of rain pattering against his skin a lot less disorientating. And he didn’t have to shout to be heard.

You’ve been here. At the battle. Haven’t you? Zenozarax asked as he glanced back into the storm, in the far distance veiled behind rain and storm would be Marcardsmoor.

Yes, indeed.

You remember it?

I do. And I remember you. I hoped you would return, Grandmaster.

Zenozarax looked back at the other wizard, away from the place he could never go back to. There was an annoying and malicious smile on his lips that mirrored in his voice. A tone of mockery as he used the title that had been taken from him centuries ago.

Did I fight you?

You did.

He had expected so. He knew this wizard. And he should have known him to be here. The moment he had awakened in that cave, his magic crippled by chaos, he should have known. He had, hadn’t he?

But even though his duty once had been to kill the chaos wizard in front of him, who most likely was responsible for the chaos and destruction in the battle at Funnix including Zenozarax’ own death – the anger within him was dampened by numb all-consuming grief.

The chaos wizard took a step towards him, and Zenozarax felt an unexpected tension raising his hackles. This wizard, his kind, the chaos wizards, cultists and worshippers – they were the only ones now that would welcome him with open arms, despite what he had done. He knew that. Expected as much. But he also knew that trust now would be in an even shorter supply than ever.

Nothing is more mindlessly destructive than a chaos wizard who doesn’t know what he’s doing. You learned that the hard way. Now, let me help you. The chaos wizard’s voice was sugary sweet and full of promise – if it weren’t for the devious spark behind his eyes. He had come close. Too close. I had hoped to talk to you earlier. But you’ve proven more unpredictable than I remembered.

Zenozarax felt his anger starting to claw its way through his entire body as he now looked the other wizard straight into his eyes – not even an arm’s length away – as he asked, You brought him here, didn’t you? Atladin was only here because of you.

A twitch of a smile on the chaos wizard’s face. Do you believe in destiny, Grandmaster?

Zenozarax’ hand shot up, grabbing the tall wizard by his throat, his grasp was hard and the magic in his arm just ready to burst.

And that blasted wizard dared to smirk. Zenozarax felt the irritation, the anger, the hate, flare up like an inferno in his stomach. All the pain and grief he had felt before fueling it like gasoline.

Let me help you. The wizard just repeated and how he managed to sound still as confident despite his voice cracking by the force against his vocal cords was sorcery. His hand lay on Zenozarax’ arm but he did not try to break free. Let us tie up the loose end you left behind and I promise you, you can just disappear. Leave all of this behind you. They won’t find you, as they never found me. Not unless you want them to.

Zenozarax didn’t even indulge him with an answer before the magic exploded through his hand. He barely felt the pain anymore. The dead body of the chaos wizard dropped down before his feet.

With sheer contempt, he stared down onto it. The howling of the storm was the only thing filling the air. For a moment he was alone with a dead body once more.

Before the other chaos wizard’s voice spoke again, appearing behind him. The hint of irritation in his voice was at least somewhat satisfying.

I guess that makes us even.

21 Epilogue: Wizard of Artlenburg

Once he had become the Wizard of Artlenburg. The master of a magnificent tower that a wizard as young as him rarely was to call their own.

But that had been a long time ago. His face had faded from the people’s memories, and the wizards they once knew turned into legend. As centuries passed, the name too, faded. And so had he.

Unable to stay, yet unable to leave, he rarely set foot into the tower anymore. Dreaded its sight. It had never felt right again. Instead, he had become a shadow lurking within these tunnels.

And the people of the world above that seemed so distant, who had forgotten his name, had started calling him the Hermit. People who had forgotten what he was, too. One of the last remaining wizards on an Earth that was prophesied to fall sooner rather than later. Abandoned by the wizards, left to its fate.

The Hermit barely remembered when he had heard his name spoken out loud the last time.

He was rarely visited by anyone. Without notice even less. And almost never by another wizard.

The sound of the portal was quiet. Only in the all-consuming silence of the caverns, it was barely audible. There was the faintest sizzling, a light crack the moment two places in time and space overlay each other.

In comparison, the steps that followed on the stone floor which echoed from the walls seemed deafening.

The Hermit hadn’t turned around. He wanted to but couldn’t. His hands petrified, holding a pen, the other on top of the half–written book.

His mouth felt dry, he feared would he try to speak now he wouldn’t make a sound.

He knew who had appeared behind him. Or maybe he did. And now he couldn’t turn to face him because he wanted it to be true as much as he feared it would be, as much as he hoped it wasn’t so, as much as he dreaded the realization that it wasn’t.

Ravalor.

All doubt crashed and burned at once, as that all too familiar voice spoke his name. He thought he had forgotten how it sounded – how wrong he had been.

Why are you here? Ravalor’s voice was raspy but calm, betraying the pen now trembling in his hand.

I wanted to see you.

Ravalor took a deep breath, laying down the pen. Then he finally turned around.

Zenozarax stood at a respectful and safe distance away from him. He looked different now and not different at all. It was the face of the wizard he had once called his friend, but too serious, downright grim, the way he dressed as expressive as it always had been, but what he expressed was no longer joyful or quaint. He wasn’t the wizard he remembered because whatever happened to Ravalor must have happened in some form to Zenozarax, too.

There were countless questions he wanted to ask him, over centuries he had been brooding over them, but now that the other stood truly in front of him, there really was only one question he needed the answer to. The one question for which he had tried to glimpse into the void, and he had paid gravely for it. Just to finally soothe his tortured mind.

Zenozarax knew what Ravalor would ask, had known it the moment he had learned that he had never left this place. And it sat like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

Do you know why I’m here? Ravalor asked, not even looking at him anymore, instead, his eyes seemed lost between the mighty columns holding the caverns up since an eternity.

“Yes,” Zenozarax answered quietly.

Helpless desperation lay in Ralthors eyes as he now abruptly looked back at him. “Then can you tell me? Why can’t I leave this place? What significance does it hold to me?”

Zenozarax shook his head slightly. The frustration, grief and regret in his heart were the same that had kept him awake at night for too long, that had festered uncontrollably for centuries – but now facing the wizard that so desperately wanted to understand what had happened, to remember the memories Zenozarax himself would like to forget, it just reminded him the more of the injustice put upon them. Ravalor had made his decision, they both had, and they would live with the consequences forevermore.

“It is best you cherish the memories you still have.”

“Zenozarax.”

“Yes?”

“What happened?” Ravalor paused, and for the moment didn’t even look at him, “I found the body,” he continued slowly, reluctant, not wanting to ask, but having to know. But there was more in his tone, the weight of a secret held for too long.

“You haven’t told them?” Zenozarax asked almost gently, somehow not even surprised.

“No.” Another heavy pause. Then finally he looked up, the pain in his eyes eternal. “How did I die?”

Zenozarax still met the others’ gaze head–on, but the unasked question that lingered after the one he spoke out loud was like an anvil pressing down onto his soul. What did you do?

“Senselessly – but doing what you thought was right. Leave it at that. And leave this place. Move one.”

“I can’t leave.” Ravalor seemed very tired. “Just because you won’t tell me why doesn’t change it.” His gaze wandered off again, losing itself in the darkness and the quiet desperation that coloured his words.

Ravalor…

Once more the young but tired wizard looked back at him, a gentle sadness in his eyes, as he still looked at him like an old friend he thought he had lost. But also an old friend he knew must have done something terrible that he wouldn’t tell him about.

There was still so much Zenozarax wanted to say, so much he needed to say, but nothing of it mattered. If he were to succeed in what he was planning to do, Ravalor would surely come to despise him again soon enough, without ever knowing the true reason. He didn’t have to hasten that.

Not when Ravalor would remember him just for a while longer as he did before Zenozarax had decided his own fate forever. When he himself had still been under that infantile delusion that they would leave all of it behind them together.

Stay safe. And leave this place – even if you think you can’t. There is nothing good left for you here. Was all he eventually said, turning away from Ravalor as he opened a portal.

What will you do now? Ravalor asked before he could leave. Where can I find you?

Zenozarax did not look back, a grim smile on his face. Don’t. There are some things I need to take care of. Things I need to make right. You will know of it soon enough. A short pause. I appreciate your silence during this conversation, as I’m sure otherwise half of Mezchinhar would have already surrounded us. But I don’t expect you to keep this a secret.

But somehow he knew Ravalor would, despite his better judgment. Zenozarax couldn’t fault him for the mistake he was making now. Again.

Still blinded by the trust that had never been crushed by his actions.