Page 153 of Ashes of Aether

The arch looms over me. Moonlight gleams across the words etched into the stone, mocking me. Because they are all dead. All of Nolderan is dead.

I stumble through the archway. All the statues tower above me. I look none in the eye as I pass beneath them. Zephyr’s wings beat behind me, rustling through the air.

I reach the winding steps and ascend them. The portico’s tall pillars cast long shadows over me.

The Arcanium’s large doors lie wide open. One has broken away from its hinges and leans at an awkward angle.

A crack runs through the length of the atrium’s polished floor. But aside from the scorch marks and scratches across the walls, it looks no different from usual. Just deathly still.

The ceiling glows with magenta light. Like the crystals which form the coffins, it was built to eternally store aether.

I don’t stare up at it for long. I take a sharp right and follow the dark path deep beneath the Arcanium. Zephyr trails behind me.

While I’ve never entered the Vaults—only the most senior magi are allowed inside—I know precisely where it lies. Usually the wards hold adepts and inexperienced magi at bay, but now they are broken and I am free to enter.

The heavy doors groan as I push them open.

Chests are overturned, relics spilling out, and old tomes have fallen off shelves. Bookcases lie sprawled on their backs. Like the rest of the Arcanium, the battle has left devastating scars.

I pass through another set of doors. It’s within this next vast room that I notice several artifacts missing from their stands. I don’t stop to determine what they were. If the necromancers seized them, they must be deadly relics.

I don’t know what exactly I seek. All I know is that I will need something dark and terrible to save my father’s body and soul from Arluin’s clutches.

I halt before an altar with a skull floating above it. Shadows burn in its sockets. I can’t tell whose it once was, but it appears to be human. Bony jaws clatter together. Zephyr springs away in fright, his antennae quivering.

As menacing as the skull might appear, it wasn’t powerful enough for the necromancers to steal. That means it’s of little use to me. I turn and continue through the hall.

At the very end of the Vaults lies a door formed from crystallized aether. It has no handle and when I run my fingers across its surface, I find no ridges where it meets the stone. It’s just because of its shape that I suspect it may be a door at all.

I rock back onto my heels and narrow my eyes. My father would surely be able to enter. His staff is linked to Nolderan’s Aether Tower, so perhaps it will also share a connection with this door.

I knock the staff against the crystal.

Nothing happens.

With a frown creasing my brow, I draw aether into my fingers and focus all the power into the staff. I weave my magic into an unlocking spell.

“Aseros.”

This time when I knock the staff against the door, the smooth surface ripples with energy. Then it swings open, permitting me entry. Zephyr slips through after me, and the crystal door seals behind us both.

We enter a magnificent chamber, every inch of its walls and floors carefully carved from marble. Its ceiling is crystalline like the central atrium’s, though remarkably smaller, and magenta light washes over the circular room, keeping it permanently illuminated. Shelves lean against its curved walls, but they aren’t just filled by books. Daggers and amulets as cruel as the ones Arluin wielded decorate the gaps between the ancient, leather-bound tomes. There are a few relics which don’t exude dark magic, such as the aether-forged sword to my right. And I find a few jagged crystals lying along the shelves. But they don’t shine with magenta light. Their glow is tri-coloured, and they are filled with varying shades of purple, gold, and black. I lift one and peer at it. The vibrations through my fingers are not the familiar hum of aether. Rather this stone contains all three energies: aether, light, and dark magic.

I return the strange stone to its shelf and continue my examination of the room. My fingers trail over the dusty book spines, and I lean closer to decipher their titles. There are tomes on advanced spells of the magi—some even from the enchanters of Lumaria. Or at least I think they’re on moon elven magic, seeing how they’re written in Elvish. I only recognize the letters of their alphabet, and not their language itself.

Other tomes are far less benevolent, and their texts contain the terrible secrets of dark magic: necromancy and demonology. I select a large one entitledThe Origins of Necromancyand start over to the pillowy armchair in the corner. Zephyr is already curled up in the middle since it’s the only chair in this chamber. I lay my father’s staff against the wall and lift the faerie dragon onto my lap. He buries his azure head into the withered skirts of my pearlescent dress, licking his wounds with his forked-tongue.

I peel back the tome’s leather cover—which is cracked in places—and glance through the pages.

Necromancy was not always forbidden, nor was dark magic, it begins.In the year 558, the first corpse was successfully reanimated by Nolderan’s most senior scholars, and this discovery especially piqued the interest of Korad Banwell who was, at the time, the Archmage of Defense.

I turn to the next page. The first contains no new information. My tutors at the Arcanium already described how necromancy came to be and why dark magic is forbidden. Their explanations weren’t as detailed as this tome, but the dates of experiments and the names of those overseeing them will provide me with no advantage against Arluin.

I scan over several paragraphs and then flip to the middle of the book, but it is evident this book will be of no help. With a sigh, I remove Zephyr from my lap and return the tome to its shelf.

If I am to have any hope of saving my father, I must find a way to become Arluin’s equal. And swiftly. I need a weapon which will grant me unfathomable strength, or knowledge of a spell which will act as a bane against necromancy.

I suppose light magic is the greatest power against dark magic, but I’ll never be able to wield it. Maybe if I studied for several decades, I would learn to use a small amount, but I would never become proficient with light magic. A fraction of the energy flows through my veins, as it does with all living beings, but my blood is dominated by aether. Those who are exceptional at casting light magic are blessed by the gods and possess souls so radiant they are like living beacons. That is why light magic is out of the question. I must resort to other measures.