People need to be tuned like a good instrument. It always takes time to tune, but if you are really good, your instrument will sound exactly the way you want it to.
The visitor I'd been waiting for finally graced me with his presence, though I made a show of appearing indifferent to his arrival. Even from two corridors away, the smell of magic was unmistakable. It wasn't particularly unpleasant, not like the stench characteristic of dark mages but it reminded me more of the quiet of a musty crypt.
The dark mage emerged from the shadows like a ghost, solidifying into form in the confines of my small cell. I raised my bored eyes slowly, almost callously, to regard the newcomer. I didn't move, keeping my back pressed against the cell wall.
The red hood obscured his face, but I could see the mage's cold gaze—it was not reflecting much emotion. Only a bit of curiosity. He seemed to be barely intrigued enough not to kill me on the spot. For a few eternal moments, he stood there, appraising me, probably weighing whether I was worth the effort.
Frustrated by his towering presence, I finally stood up, brushing off my worn, frayed trousers. A surge of bloodlust erupted within me, a primal urge to fight this dark mage. The thought of combating him filled me with a fierce, almost intoxicating excitement. My blood raced with anticipation, and every fiber of my being was attuned to the challenge Mazen presented.
"Do you wanna bet?" I asked, surprising him.
His face remained impassive, but I could tell his surprise by the slight flutter of his eyes. It seemed I had his full attention now.
"Bet?" he repeated, incredulous.
"If I defeat you, you will abdicate the throne and admit defeat to me," I said.
For the first time in years, Mazen's lips curled into a genuine, excited predator's grin. It was the kind of devilish, cruel grin that had terrorized countless mages in their worst nightmares. I impressed him, to say the least.
"And if you lose?" he relished the thought with repulsive conviction.
"I won't," I assured him, as his smile widened, "But if I do, the throne and my life will be yours."
"Do you realize you won't remember this conversation?" he said, "You won't remember anything about 'Mazen.'"
He spoke of himself in the third person, which I found rather disgusting. I did not understand then that this had a hidden meaning.
"Then you have nothing to fear, do you?" I asked, grinning slyly.
His amusement was palpable. He grunted in satisfaction, clearly delighted. Leaning closer, he whispered into my ear.
"I haven't been beaten in a very long time, mixed-blood," he said smugly, "I hope you provide some entertainment."
An ominous glint danced on the blade of the dagger in his hand—its reflection showing an icy grey eye. Without hesitation, he plunged the dagger into my side. Though he knew I would heal quickly, he carefully avoided my organs.
The dagger was a conduit, granting him access to my consciousness. I wasn't about to make it easy for him; if I couldn't physically resist, I'd fortify my mental defenses. At least I could make him work for it.
I felt him probing gently, and he chuckled in amusement. His intrusion was methodical, but it was clear he was careful not to damage my consciousness. Somewhere on the brink of awareness, I heard my own quickening breaths as he breached my mental defenses.
Mazen glanced around my mindscape with curiosity. It was a familiar, sunny meadow with a small pond and a willow tree. I was seated in the shade of the willow, one leg drawn up and a hand lightly wrapped around it, resting my head on my knee.
"Who are you?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
He was unsettled by the sight of my silvery hair and the blackened whites of my eyes. I grinned and guided his gaze to my reflection in the pond's surface. The reflection showed as most saw me: my black-haired, human self.
"What's the matter? Afraid of my real form?" I taunted.
He laughed ecstatically. "Only surprised."
"This one," I pointed to the willow tree, "represents my memories."
"Really?" he raised an eyebrow, moving towards me. "Have you given up already?"
"Not at all," I grinned, "But if I were you, I'd watch my step."
Mazen's eyes widened in surprise as he blinked the illusion out of his eyes. Just in time, too, as he would have been submerged in the pond if he had taken another step.
A mad grin spread across his lips. "Amazing! Did you develop this protection yourself?"
"I had some help," I admitted.
"It's been a long time since I've met someone who can fool me," he said. "Do you have any other surprises?"
"Just one," I replied.
I snapped my fingers. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, an arm burst from the pond's surface, grabbing Mazen's leg. More hands followed, reaching out to the dark mage, who tried desperately to avoid them.
He began muttering in Spanish, a flurry of words that, despite my lack of understanding, I interpreted as curses. Finally, he resorted to a spell to immobilize the arms, seemingly freezing them in time. He smoothed his cloak and advanced towards me, now unhindered.
"Your defense is quite impressive," he said.
"It is. But it wasn't good enough to hold you back," I stated.
A slight smile tugged at his lips. "Nothing can hold me back. Of course, you can try."
I sighed deeply. Our battle was nearly over. I'm the type who isn't afraid to lose a battle if it means winning the war. Mazen, on the other hand, is the type who fears losing a single battle, which makes him vulnerable to losing the war. He will not be able to win the war against me for that very reason.
Mazen thinks that once he has defeated someone, they can no longer be a threat to him, and it is this hubris, perhaps his only weakness, that I will exploit. I'll slowly, stealthily get close to him, and when he's not expecting it, I'll crush him with one swift attack. Mazen couldn't see when a sly half-smile tugged at my lips at the thoughts.
As the memory faded, I felt a brief, disorienting dizziness. Mazen vanished from my consciousness and the tiny cell.
The fae in the adjacent cell grinned and giggled.
"What's up, Zack?" I murmured, massaging my temples.
Zack's laughter echoed in my skull, the rhythm of my throbbing temples matching his chuckles. I wondered if the guards might give me something for this headache if I flashed them a smile.
"What's so funny?" I asked, irritation seeping into my voice.
"Nothing, I'm just happy," he said, calming down a little.
"What are you happy for?" I growled. "Rotting in a fucking cell is so much fun?"
He chuckled a few times.
"I think I've found someone I want to fight," he declared cheerfully.
"Who is it?" I asked, concerned that if Zack had encountered a powerful adversary, I needed to be informed.
Zack didn't answer, only continued laughing as if I'd said something amusing. No matter how many times I asked, he refused to tell me. He just kept laughing as if I had said something quite humorous leaving me to wonder if he was just trying to keep his potential rival to himself.
(...)
The moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting a silvery glow over the cluttered study where Rolo sat hunched over his desk. His normally meticulous workspace was a mess of artifacts, notes, and ancient texts.
Each time he thought he was on the verge of a breakthrough, the results would fall short, dissolving into enigmatic and useless data. The lack of progress was infuriating, but the underlying cause of his distress was more personal.
He muttered under his breath, "Why can't I get this right?"
His voice was a strained whisper, barely audible in the stillness of the night. The intricate runes on the artifact seemed to blur and shift, no matter how closely he examined them. Rolo's frustration boiled over, and he slammed his fist on the desk, causing a cascade of papers to flutter to the floor.
In a moment of desperation, he tried to cast a simple detection spell, hoping to gain some insight into the artifact's properties. He focused his will, but nothing happened. No flicker of light, no surge of energy—nothing. The spell, like everything else tonight, seemed to betray him.
Rolo's frustration reached its peak. He threw his hands up in exasperation, the empty, cold void where his magic should have been only serving to deepen his dismay.
"Damn it," he muttered, pushing the artifact away and standing up abruptly.
With a growl of annoyance, he decided to take a break. The kitchen, with its warm, comforting glow, seemed like the only refuge from his frustration. As he made his way there, he could hear the soft clinking of porcelain and the faint rustling of something being stirred.
In the kitchen, Alex was at the stove, a kettle whistling softly. The scent of herbs and spices filled the air, a calming counterpoint to the tension that gripped both of them. Alex's hands moved with practiced ease as he prepared a pot of tea. He looked up when Rolo entered, a sympathetic smile on his face.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Alex asked, his voice gentle.
Rolo slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, running a hand over his face. "I've been trying to figure out this artifact," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "But it's like it's mocking me. Every analysis fails."
Alex poured two cups of tea, placing one in front of Rolo. "Sometimes magic just doesn't cooperate," he said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Especially when you're stressed."
Rolo took the cup and wrapped his hands around it, savoring the warmth that seeped through the porcelain. The tea was calming, but it didn't quite reach the tension knotting his shoulders.
"It's not just that," he admitted. "But thanks anyway."
Alex nodded, his own expression reflecting concern. "I know. It's hard to focus on anything else when someone you care about is in danger. We've been running ourselves ragged trying to find a solution."
Rolo took a sip of the tea, feeling the warmth spread through him. It was soothing, but it did little to ease the gnawing anxiety that kept him awake.
He let Alex misinterpret the situation. He was afraid because, for the first time in his life, he was completely without magic. When he needed it the most, he lacked any magic in his body.
Alex sat down opposite him, his gaze steady. "Everything will be okay."
"I hope you're right. I just wish I could do more."
The quiet of the kitchen provided a stark contrast to the chaos that was swirling in both Alex and Rolo's minds.
Alex looked across the table, his brow furrowed in thought. "You know," he said, breaking the silence, "I've been thinking about our approach."
Rolo looked up from his tea, curiosity piqued. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting," Alex said slowly, "that maybe we need to rethink our strategy for tomorrow. Shay's not just going to sit around and wait for us to rescue him. We should try to anticipate his moves, not just focus on what we can do to get him out."
Rolo nodded slowly, taking in Alex's words. Rolo leaned back, considering the possibilities. The quiet of the kitchen felt like a cocoon around them, the only sounds were the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of ceramic. The stillness contrasted sharply with the turmoil within them.
Alex leaned forward slightly. "So, what do you think Shay's plan might be?"
Rolo's brow furrowed as he considered the question. "Shay's a master of unpredictability. His plans are rarely straightforward. He's not the type to wait passively for rescue; he'd want to make sure he has a hand in his own fate."
Alex nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Exactly."
Rolo took a deep breath, trying to piece together his thoughts. "If I were Shay, I'd leverage every bit of knowledge and resource available to me. He might be working on ways to manipulate his captors or create opportunities for us to act. Maybe he's laying groundwork for a strategic shift."
Alex's eyes widened with understanding. "So, you're suggesting that his plan might involve setting up a situation where we can act more effectively, even if we don't know exactly what he's planning?"
Rolo nodded. "Yes, exactly. Shay's always thinking two steps ahead. He's probably orchestrating events so that when the time comes, we'll have a clearer shot at rescuing him. He wouldn't just leave everything to chance."
Rolo's gaze was focused, "Tomorrow we should keep an eye out for any signs of what he might be setting up."
The two of them sat in the quiet kitchen, a renewed sense of determination settling between them.