Dread Mage

As the sun set on a balmy summer evening, a chill swept through the Simerian village. With the rising of the moon, a cold, penetrating aura began to envelop the community. The temperature was so frigid that the villagers sought refuge in their homes, huddling close to the warmth of their hearths.

This icy aura signaled the arrival of a figure that many feared. Without anyone to counterbalance his chilling presence, it felt as if all warmth had been drained away.

Among the villagers, only one girl seemed unfazed by the chill. Outside a simple dwelling, she was busy tending to a peculiar variety of flowers whose appearance and scent were unusual, as they were not native to the region.

Nearby, a book rested on a bench, a sight that was as strange as the flowers. The Simerians had no written records of their own or of the outside world; their stories were passed down orally.

The book was an anthology of magical arts—a subject that was even more baffling considering the Simerians' inability to generate even a flicker of mana. Once her chores were finished, the girl planned to delve deeper into the book's contents.

As frost began to form on the flower petals, the girl spotted a familiar figure almost gliding towards her. She sprang up and dashed to meet him.

At first, no words were exchanged, but the air warmed slowly.

"Well, look at you," the Dread Mage Vellichor chuckled, embracing the girl and patting her head. "You've grown, Sonder, and you're nearly squeezing the life out of me. When did you become so strong?"

Sonder eased her grip.

“Just a bit stronger,” she replied as she pulled back to look into his piercing red eyes, which shimmered with a light of their own.

With a warm sigh from the Dread Mage, the chill around them completely dissipated.

“Has it already been six months?” Sonder asked, shocked at how quickly the passage of time has gotten the best of her.

“Haven’t you missed me all the while?” The mage asked.

“Of course I have, but time seems to fly by so quickly.”

For a fleeting moment, a shadow of concern crossed Vellichor's face, but he didn't let Sonder see it.

"Vellichor Dread Mage," called Hrygo, the towering Simerian woman, from the doorway of the house. "Are you here to whisk away my student?"

"Merely keeping a promise," he responded.

"Come in," she invited. "We can talk inside."

They entered the cozy house, where the air was thick with the comforting aromas of herbs and roasted roots. Hrygo, who had been cooking, offered Vellichor a bowl and said, "You must harbor a hunger after your journey."

He readily accepted the offer.

Hrygo motioned for him to take a seat at the low wooden table laden with hot dishes.

Then she served them, her large hands delicately maneuvering the bowls as she filled their plates.

Vellichor inhaled deeply, allowing the warmth of the food to soothe his thoughts.

"The flowers outside," he began. "Maniblom. Did they grow from the seeds I left behind?"

"Indeed, they did. You already knew the answer," Hrygo replied. "Why pretend otherwise?"

Ignoring her question, he commented, "Well, they are blooming splendidly. A real treat for the eyes."

Sensing his unease, Hrygo asked directly, "What is it you really want to ask?"

Resigned and grumbling, Vell admitted, "I suppose I don't have a choice."

Then he posed his question sincerely, with Sonder present, as it concerned her too.

“Have you taught her all you could? The Simerian ways, their source of strength, and the like? Is there anything that she still needs to learn?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Hrygo responded, "No. Sonder now knows everything necessary. She has fully embraced our ways, and if she continues, she will become a Simerian in everything but name."

"Then we depart at dawn. I am not a welcome guest here. I appreciate all you have done for me and her."

She nodded in acknowledgment.

"Have you mourned sufficiently?" Vell asked, "Is Hrygo's journey also nearing its end?"

Again, she nodded, "Yes. It's time for me to let go of Hrygo, at least for now. And for my true name, so you may remember me. It's-"