Vengeance Through Passion

The door slammed open with a force that rattled the windows. Martha, wearing her usual smug grin, strolled in, her boots leaving clumps of mud on the worn wooden floor.

"Repeat what you just said to me," Aricia demanded, her voice sharp, cutting through the cold morning air. She was seated by the small hearth, its fire barely flickering. The wind howled through the gaps in the cottage walls, but it was nothing compared to the storm brewing inside her.

"I said," Freya paused, her eyes narrowing as if daring Aricia to challenge her words, "the Queen Mother is to be burned in a few mornings to come."

The room froze. Martha had stopped mid-stride, eyeing Aricia with an odd curiosity, as if testing the waters. But Aricia was already rising to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. Her fingers gripped the back of the chair so tightly her knuckles whitened.

Could it have been a coincidence that she had dreamt of her mother the night before? The vivid image of her mother’s face, worn yet proud, flickered in her memory. A mother she barely knew yet couldn't forget.

“What is wrong with those people!” Aricia’s voice erupted in fury, her words echoing through the small space as if the walls themselves trembled at her outburst.

Freya, however, did not move from her place at the table, where she had been lazily running a finger around the rim of her cup.

“I heard from the brothel,” Freya continued, her voice betraying the slight unease she felt. “I don’t know much about sorcery, but it seems her gateway energy is drained out.”

She crossed her arms, her brows knitting together in thought. “Meaning she could die at any time. She’s a powerful sorceress, but even she can’t resist death forever. They say she refused to die even after her heart stopped beating. But something doesn’t seem right. It feels like a conspiracy. You know sorcerers gain their strongest energy from the star—the one that comes once every century.”

Aricia’s heart thundered in her chest as the words sunk deeper into her mind. The star. The celestial event she had heard about as a child, whispered in the dark corners of her clan. A star that only appeared once every hundred years, feeding the sorcerers’ power like a stream feeding into a river. Was that the reason behind the urgency to burn the Queen Mother? To prevent her from surviving long enough to harness the energy of the approaching star?

Freya continued, her voice low and thoughtful. “The constellation isn’t easy to predict. It could be a few months from now or even years. But whatever the case, they’re taking no chances. Honestly, I think it’s a good idea.”

“A good idea?” Aricia’s voice trembled with barely restrained rage. “You think killing her is a good idea?”

Freya sighed, standing up from her seat. She towered over Aricia, her impressive height casting a long shadow over the room. “She’s a living hazard, Ricia. Who knows what could happen if she stays alive? The witch might resurrect and exact revenge on us all. Everyone’s been living in the edge for years.”

“Quiet now, Freya.” Aricia’s fists were clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, but she didn’t care. She could feel the heat rising in her

Freya raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Oh, so now you drop honorifics? Interesting." She stood, her height suddenly intimidating as she towered over Aricia.

Martha, sensing the tension in the room, took a few hesitant steps backward, her eyes flicking between the two women.

"Why do you always react this way when the Queen or her cursed family is mentioned?" Freya’s voice was thick with derision, her disdain palpable.

"Shut up. I warn you," Aricia growled, her fists clenching at her sides. She could feel the heat rising in her body, her emotions swirling in a chaotic storm. She wanted to lash out, to scream, to strike Freya down where she stood.

Martha quietly slipped away, heading toward the stairs. But before Freya could taunt her any further, there was a loud crash at the door, followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood.

Both women turned in an instant, their argument forgotten in the face of this new threat. The door hung off its hinges, swaying in the breeze. Something had forced its way in, though nothing was immediately visible. A cold gust of wind blew through the room, snuffing out the weak fire in the hearth, plunging the space into eerie silence.

"What was—" Aricia began, but her words died in her throat as she caught sight of movement outside.

Freya and Aricia screamed simultaneously, running toward the open doorway. They stumbled out into the dim morning light, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. But what they saw before them made them freeze in their tracks.

There, just beyond the cottage, stood a group of figures, their forms cloaked in plain blue robes. The material shimmered in the light, catching the soft hues of the rising sun. They were tall, their faces shadowed by the hoods pulled low over their heads.

The air around them crackled with energy, a faint hum vibrating through the earth beneath Aricia’s feet. There were four of them—no, six. She blinked rapidly, trying to get a better count, but they seemed to shift in and out of focus, as if reality itself couldn’t quite hold them in place.

"Who are these people?" Aricia asked, her voice barely a whisper.

There was something about these figures, something that commanded reverence or perhaps fear.

"They are..." Freya’s voice faltered, her usual bravado slipping away. "They are mages. Some of the Seven Mages of Ysadora."

Aricia’s blood ran cold. Mages.

She had heard of the Ysadoran mages, their power legendary, their names whispered in fear and awe across the land.

They were the sorcerer’s doom.

***

The tension in the air snapped like a taut wire as the door, already hanging loosely from its hinges. In the wake of the destruction, a shadowed figure strode in—his presence dominating the small space instantly.

Aricia and Freya staggered back, their eyes wide with shock as the figure emerged from the debris. He wore a dark cloak, the fabric billowing around him like a storm as he stepped forward. But it wasn’t his clothing that demanded attention. It was the unmistakable energy radiating from him—a raw, electric force that made the very air hum with power.

"A sorcerer!" Freya gasped, her hand instinctively flying to her waist, but she didn't draw her dagger.

The sorcerer turned his gaze toward them, and for a moment, his eyes—black as the abyss—locked onto Aricia's. A cruel smile twisted his lips, and the air around him shimmered with a dark, pulsing energy. His presence felt like a suffocating weight pressing down on their chests.

“Leave,” the sorcerer growled.

Before Aricia could respond, before she could even register his words, the group of mages outside stepped through the doorway. Their blue robes barely rustled as they moved, their faces still obscured by their hoods. But now, up close, Aricia could feel the immense power radiating from them as well—a power that seemed to oppose force emanating from the sorcerer.

The lead mage stepped forward, pulling back his hood to reveal an elderly man with silver hair and eyes that glowed faintly with magical energy. His expression was calm, almost serene, as though he had faced such dangers a hundred times before.

“Darius,” the mage said, his voice measured and composed. “Little rat, showing your face here was a very unwise choice, an attempt to suicide eh?”

Darius laughed, the sound echoing ominously through the ruined room. “Old fool, it seems age has taken a toll on your reasoning, yes?” His fingers twitched, and arcs of green lightning danced between them. The room crackled with dark energy as his magic swirled around him, the very walls vibrating in response.

Without another word, Darius launched forward, his arm outstretched as a wave of energy surged toward the mages, ripping through the air with violent force. The magic struck the ground, causing the floorboards to splinter and crack, sending debris flying in every direction.

The mages, however, were ready. The lead mage raised his hand, and a shimmering shield of blue light appeared before them, deflecting the wave. The energy crackled as it hit the shield, but it did not break through. Behind the shield, the mages stood calm, their robes fluttering in the magical wind, unflinching in the face of Darius’ assault.

But Darius was relentless. With a roar of fury, he sent another blast of energy toward the shield, this time focusing his power into a single, concentrated point. The shield shuddered under the force, cracks forming along its surface.

Aricia watched in stunned silence, her body frozen as the battle unfolded. She could feel the sheer magnitude of the magic being wielded, the raw, elemental power crashing through the room like a storm. And in the middle of it all was Darius, his magic like a black hole, drawing in all the light around him.

One of the younger mages stepped forward "Step back." He said to the ladies in a hushed tone. "It's dangerous to be here." Before moving forward further towards the sorcerer, raising both hands as he began to chant in an ancient language.

"Aye, he's even more handsome up close. The enigmatic descendant of the water clan,"

Freya muttered in awe.

"Heir of the Unagis. Arthur Wainwright."

Aricia finished.

The air around him shimmered, and suddenly, vines of pure magical energy shot up from the ground, wrapping themselves around Darius’s legs. The vines crackled with power, their blue light shining brightly against the dark aura of the sorcerer.

But Darius only laughed again. “Pathetic,” he snarled, and with a flick of his wrist, the vines disintegrated into ash, falling to the ground in a lifeless heap. He spun on his heel, his hand raised to strike the young mage, a bolt of black lightning forming at his fingertips.

Before the attack could land, the elder mage moved with surprising speed, raising his staff and slamming it into the ground. A shockwave of energy erupted from the point of impact, a brilliant wave of blue light that swept across the room and collided with Darius. The sorcerer was thrown back, crashing into the far wall with a grunt of pain.

“Enough!” the elder mage commanded, his voice reverberating with authority.

Darius rose slowly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His aura flickered, but his eyes remained filled with rage. “You think your tricks will save you, old man? I am beyond your reach.”

The elder mage’s face remained impassive, but the tension in the room thickened.

Suddenly, Darius raised both hands, his fingers splayed wide as he began chanting in a harsh, guttural language. The temperature in the room dropped sharply, and the air itself seemed to grow heavy. Heavy tendrils of magic seeped from Darius’s hands, curling through the air like serpents. They slithered toward the mages, their forms shifting and twisting as they moved.

The lead mage reacted swiftly, slamming his staff down again, this time conjuring a wall of shimmering blue light that spread out from the ground. The tendrils of magic collided with the wall, hissing and writhing as they attempted to break through.

Freya managed to pick her jaw from the ground. "Incredible."

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the room as the blue shield began to fracture. Darius grinned, sensing the mages' weakening defense. With a triumphant roar, he pushed forward, unleashing another wave of black magic.

The shield shattered, shards of light scattering through the air like glass. The mages staggered back, their defenses crumbling.

But in that moment of chaos, the elder mage made his move. With a swift motion, he drew a glowing rune in the air, his fingers moving with precision and speed. The rune blazed with light, and as it formed, the room filled with a deep, resonant hum.

Darius’s grin dropped.

The rune exploded outward, and for the first time, Darius faltered, his magic recoiling as the wave of pure energy surged toward him. He raised his arms to defend, but the force of the rune was too strong. It slammed into him with the force of a hurricane, throwing him across the room and pinning him to the wall.

Darius howled in rage, his magic flaring wildly.

The elder mage stepped forward, his expression grim. “Back into the abyss,

imp!"

Darius snarled, his eyes blazing with hatred. But even as he fought against the binding magic, it was clear he was losing.

With one final scream of defiance, Darius’s dark magic imploded, collapsing in on itself with a deafening roar. The room was bathed in blinding light and Aricia's eyes widened, the light serving as a signal of a distant memory.

"It's him."

Aricia finally remembered.

"He was present that day, Wainwright, Lord of the Water Clan."