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legendsofmyriad · 6 months

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Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 20: The Soul Mage

“It is good to see you, Professor Quinn,” Bartholomew said, welcoming his newest guest with a firm handshake and a twinkle-eyed smile. “I hope your journey was not too uncomfortable.”

“Strange, but not troublesome,” Azra assured him.

“Your mentor had expressed great admiration for your skills.”

“I will do what I can to live up to that,” the soul mage promised, following his host deeper into the laboratory. He gaped at the vibrating equipment that sustained the professor’s work and the peculiar plants that crowded the garden at the far end. His eyes tracked the room’s magnificence up to the balconies, where he spotted the elegant flow of a long-backed coat and the harmonised aura of crimson and lavender. With a book in one hand and the other teasing the tip of her braid, Lilith wandered aimlessly above. She still concentrates the same, he thought.

Acutely aware of the attention aimed at her, she paused in her placid pacing and turned in his direction. In a gesture of surrender, he bent his head, a silent plea for some sign of clemency. When he rose again, the balcony lay bare, and Lilith disappeared up a winding staircase in a flutter of thin fabric and hurt. Though he was tempted to go after her, to talk to her before she stubbornly attempted to avoid him, Bartholomew’s assertive voice prompted him to focus on the more pressing matter of the storm.

Azra’s inner turmoil passed unnoticed by Bartholomew as he excitedly recounted the knowledge he had gained from researching past explorers of similar weather phenomena. “Am I right in assuming that you have been studying soul magic for some time now?” he questioned.

“Yes,” Azra said, distracting himself by an unusually large cluster of zedite. “Almost as soon as magic returned to Solgarde, I found myself drawn to the connection between the living soul and raw magic.”

“Ah, well, I would like to hear of your findings. Much has changed, and I am keen to learn about any fresh developments.”

“Altair kept copies of all of my published papers. I’m sure he’d be happy to share them.”

Bartholomew’s fascinated grin remained as he rose from the sheet-strewn surface of the desk he leaned on. “Before you begin your examination of the storm, would you like a tour?” he asked.

“I would appreciate that,” Azra answered. “While Professor Bevan provided me with some explanation as to what is going on outside, there are a few things that I need to clarify.”

“Of course. This way.”

Their voices fading, Altair ensured the double doors beside the compact botanical garden had swung shut before he trudged up the meandering staircases to the highest level. He slowed once at the top and approached the pensive woman as he would a boiling vial.

“A trio of professors,” Lilith grunted. “Just what I need.” She fought the compulsion to pick at the skin by her nails, clenching and unclenching her fists until the urge passed. Farina would only scold her for it if she saw the flakey mess. ‘A mage must take good care of their hands,’ her guardian always admonished when she noticed the dry blotches by her fingernails. ‘They are the bridge between you and magic.’

Altair relaxed his defensive expression. While in the past he may have reprimanded her for the snarky comment, he understood her current situation left her agitated. After the war, she had been resolute in her refusal to meet with Azra again, and although he was saddened by the rift between them, he respected her wishes. He tried to convince himself that this was different, the nine worlds relied on all of them working together, but the regret of breaking that promise to her still lingered.

“Why don’t you return to Solgarde for a little while?” he suggested, reminiscent of the fatherly manner he used to calm her when she tearfully admitted her doubts. “I am sure Farina would be delighted to see you and learn of your adventures.”

“I promised Bartholomew I’d help him wake The Core,” she sighed. “Until that is done and Myriad is safe gain, I must remain here.”

“Lilith.” Altair dithered by the railing, hoping that she might turn to him, but her violet gaze persisted in chasing the steady rotation of the holographic map below them, as though the twinkling golden glow would pacify her pain. “The purge is over. Azra wanted revenge, not to hurt anybody. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t consider the same if the opportunity arose.”

Lilith’s eyes blazed with a purple fire as she rounded on him and hissed a firm “no.” With a hard swallow, she straightened her posture. “I would rather spend an eternity in a nightmare than betray everybody I love. I’d never do what he did. He… he made a choice, he went against us, and… and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“One day you’re going to have to, otherwise it will consume you. Azra did what he did for his own reasons, and in the end, he realised the error of his ways and helped us win the war. He asked for forgiveness, he took full responsibility for his actions, and you cannot stand there and pretend you have lived a blameless life.”

Bristling under her skin, his words crawled and burst like firecrackers, barbed ashes sprinkling down to scorch her. He thought he had all the information, but he was missing crucial details she possessed. And as much as she wanted to correct him, to horrify him, she wouldn’t, if only to protect herself.

“People are dead because of him, people I loved,” she said.

“Azra used to be one of those people,” Altair replied, doleful and trying. “There was talk of union bells and-”

“Those rumours were nothing more than speculation,” Lilith asserted. “And this is not your choice to make. It isn’t up to you, or Farina, or the councillors, or anybody else for that matter what I do in this regard. If I wish to live the rest of my life hating that man, then I will.”

“Hate?” A sorrowful note crept into Altair’s voice. “Dearest, I may not have witnessed as many wonders as some, but I know more about matters of the heart than you realise. Hate and love are both born of passion and can be mistaken for one another. I have seen you hate before, and it did not look like this.”

His eyes fell to the criss-crossed floor as he took a step away from her. “But you are right, and I apologise for pushing the subject. I only want to speak with you about it because I see you are both in pain, and I wish to help you heal in any way I can.”

The fury waned. Stood before her, Altair’s distant demeanour appeared so meek and mild that a pang of regret mounted in her chest, not only for how she’d spoken to him, but for everything he had been forced to endure due to his association with her. Every time they met, she discerned the conflict within him as he tried to balance his loyalty to her and his former apprentice. It couldn’t have been easy to be someone who could fix complex machinery and equipment, but not the clash between the two people he cared about the most.

“I know,” she spoke measuredly, “but you must let it be. Some things just can’t be repaired, and it’s better to leave them alone than keep trying and make them worse.”

Altair expressed his understanding with a nod and a comforting smile that she gratefully returned. “Just promise to take care of yourself while you’re on your adventures,” he said earnestly. “Solgarde can be dangerous enough at times, but the worlds out there… stars above only know what awaits you.”

“As careful as I have always been,” she affirmed.

Altair’s bushy eyebrows arched. “You know,” he sighed, joining her by the balcony railing, “that is not as comforting as you think it is.”

* * *

The lab felt like a refuge as Bartholomew shut the door on the shrieking wind and ash flurries. He removed his gloves and goggles in one swift motion and threw them onto the shelf by the coat hooks.

“Azra is evaluating the storm,” he said, dusting the smoky specks from his waistcoat. “You have taught him well, Professor Bevan.”

“The credit is not solely mine,” Altair admitted. “He has nurtured his mind and been persistent in his education. Did I ever tell you how we met?”

Turning away, Lilith suppressed a roll of her eyes, knowing his golden student would have flushed to the tip of his nose if he were within earshot of the gushing praise. Azra had always loathed the spotlight that Altair’s proud speeches brought. In the past, she might have steered the conversation to protect him from unwanted attention, but instead she left the professors to their discussion and sidled over to the window, perching herself on the flat sill to watch the murky world outside.

Spirals of ash twisted in erratic oscillations as clumps rose and descended. She tried following one cluster, but it quickly clashed and split into several dizzying bundles. Those particles were once people. Withered and worn, their lives had become nothing more than specks in the weeping wind.

Azra’s magic pulsed within the swirling mass, edging out and up in deliberate, methodical shifts. Precise crimson forks injected life into the gritty cloud. If the war had taken a different turn, she may have been out there with him, trading sarcastic comments that left him smirking and blushing in a way only she knew how.

The mournful welling in her chest swarmed, and she pressed back against the glass, hunching over to control the unsteady bounce of her legs. She couldn’t keep doing this. She needed to stop dwelling on the past and pondering how matters may have turned out if certain decisions had never been made. He had chosen his path, and she had chosen hers. There was no going back now.

Deep in the recesses of her remorse, she wanted to forgive him, to return to the unity they had shared all those years ago. Try as she might to envision a life with him, the weight of his betrayal and the crushing heartache it left in its wake persisted. She still saw him stood with the enemy while her friends burned, while their home was hacked apart and families separated forever.

‘I have seen you truly hate before, and it did not look like this.’

It grated on her nerves that Altair was right. While she had vowed bloody vengeance against others she despised, she struggled to bring herself to think of Azra in that way. She didn’t know if she ever would, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.

“You seem rather deep in thought,” Altair observed as he seated himself at her side. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry again. Lesson learned.”

A smile crossed her face, and in response, the professor of magic grinned warmly. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be so-”

“I take full responsibility for pushing,” he assured her, bearing his palms up in apology. “Sometimes my mouth runs away with my heart.” He squirmed on the hard and unforgiving wood beneath him, time-worn bumps digging into his thigh.

“Are you all right there?” Lilith asked. “Would you like me to fetch you a cushion?”

“No, thank you. I…” Altair huffed and ceased wriggling. “May I ask for your view on something?”

Intrigued, she shuffled to the edge of the broad windowsill and leaned toward the man who had guided her through her early adult years. He often sought her opinion, but this time his demeanour seemed different. More skittish than usual. “Go ahead.”

“I have been thinking about what I’d like to do once our situation with The Core has been resolved. Before and during the war, I had a purpose on Solgarde and I was honoured to use my skills for the betterment of our home. But now…”

Lilith’s attention fell to the professor’s wrinkled hands, wringing and trembling in his lap. “Something has changed?”

“It has.” The hologram of the nine worlds gradually rotating mesmerised Altair as he stared at the gentle spin, civilisations passing him by in a hopeful glimmer. “In the books here, I have studied what this planet looked like, how it used to function, and how vital it was to Myriad. I want to be a part of restoring it.”

“You want to stay here?”

“Not permanently, but for a good while. I think I could be of use, but with home still recovering from the war and our own people needing-”

“Stay,” Lilith told him, almost a whisper in the churning buzz of the room. “If this is where you wish to be, then you should stay. There’s nothing stopping you from helping Solgarde from here.” At the hum in agreement and the thoughtful tilt, she sensed the cogwheels in his mind turning, contemplating the future and his place in it. “You will be missed, but that’s inevitable.”

“It gladdens my heart to hear you say that,” Altair replied. “Wherever we both end up, you must promise to visit.”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” she said, feigning a dramatic sigh. “I shall be incredibly busy getting into all sorts of trouble.” She glanced at him with mischief dancing in her eyes, and he chuckled at her antics. “I’ll always make time for you. You know that.”

“I do,” he replied. While he remained steadfastly focused on the current task in hand, he couldn’t withhold his curiosity about what lay ahead. With the gateways opening up paths for all, he knew that Lilith’s journey would take her to places he could not follow, and he only hoped his prior care and nurture would prepare her for the adventure she would embark on.

Heralded by the screech of unnatural winds and trailing dirt, Azra hurried into the laboratory in a flurry of specks and cinders. With every slight movement, his crumpled shirt scattered pale grains that collected in the seams of his trousers and puddled around his shoes.

“That is quite the storm,” he said. “I didn’t realise living ash could cause such phenomena.”

“It is a rarity,” Bartholomew replied, hanging up his jacket with care. “Which is why we need your expertise.”

“I can’t be certain how long it will take until I begin working through it, but I’ll try my best to clear as much as I can,” Azra assured him as his host led him up the spiral staircase to the upper levels.

“You are more than welcome to stay here while you work,” Professor Spark offered. “Or if you prefer, you can travel to and from Solgarde should that prove easier. For now, I think it may be best for you to clean away the rest of the ash. It gets awfully itchy.” He gestured through a set of doors to the tranquil inner passageways. “Head straight down there and take a left at the end. There is a washroom on the far right.”

Azra thanked him and followed his directions, feeling the dust particles stubbornly clinging to his hair and ruffling the roots to dislodge them. Some caught beneath his nails and he grumbled as he picked them clean, peeling at the more stubborn flecks.

He was so preoccupied with the irritating grains he didn’t have time to stop before almost colliding with the dark-clothed figure rounding the corner. He stumbled in an unsteady retreat and striking violet stared up at him.

“Lili-” He coughed and righted himself, ceasing his fussing. “Commander Cleaver.”

“Professor Quinn,” Lilith said.

Azra’s wide eyes swept over her face and the curl of midnight hair that had slipped from her braided crown. There had been a time when he would have gently nestled it with the rest, but he sensed the hurt pouring from her soul, the raw ache he had caused and failed to remedy, and held back.

His bulky form blocked the faint sunlight dribbling through the window and plunged her into shadow, the raging elements outside roiling within the glowing wedge behind him. “It seems you brought most of the storm inside with you,” she commented, unclenching her jaw and curbing the compulsion to skim the ashes from his scrunched shirt.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he replied.

“But you can fix it?”

“With time.”

Lilith nodded and let her gaze roam the floorboards while Azra’s guilt roved, hunting for some trace of forgiveness. In that moment, she may have given it to him if he had asked, relented just to be free of the suffocating pain. Instead, he stepped aside to allow her to pass. Finally clear, the sunlight dripped further in until it swallowed her.

“I will let you get on,” he said into the quiet remorse festering between them. “I’m sure you have a lot to do.” For a tentative second, she hesitated, and he held his breath. Say something, he silently urged. Please. Disappointment gripped him as she walked by without so much as a hum in response.

As he started down the lengthy walkway, the sound of heels clicking grew distant and abruptly stopped. He strained his ears, waiting for her voice to call back. When he peeked around the corner, she momentarily faltered, on the verge of turning in the seconds before she straightened her posture and continued her purposeful strides.

When she returned to the central hub, the churn of the apparatus and muffled voices below provided her with a comforting distraction from her thoughts. Shoving the bothersome curl aside, she made her way down the twisting steps to the ground floor.

She arrived to an avid discussion and a jumble of books spread across the far desk, the two older professors engaging in an eager exchange of ideas and counterpoints. The hurried swap of theories reminded her of her early days at the Academy, corridors alive with academic debate and classrooms nurturing thriving minds. The first normal conversation she’d had with her friend, Nissa, had been like a blessing from the stars. Pastries, she recalled, wandering over to the screens monitoring Solgarde. She talked about her favourite pastries and how they were made.

A nostalgic smile graced her lips as the memories flowed. It hadn’t all been bad. She had had moments of joy, tiny and trivial to anyone else, but to her they extended merciful hands in those bleak hours. Their unwavering love reminded her that no matter what the future held, she had people who would be there to help her. And in the deepest recesses of her heart, nestled within the writhing shadows of deceit and hurt, she knew Azra was one of them.

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