I glanced at the Magestone—and at the long, vertical cracks running down its surface. Per the king’s orders, the other mages were beginning the preparations to repair the damage. Very few of us remained dedicated to our previous task: investigating the source of said damage.
The Archmage—the leader of our order—had been the one to deliver the news to the king. The wards had not been broken. They were not warped, nor pierced in any way; no holes were to be found. And yet, the Magestone had been attacked, which could only mean that the attack had come through the wards.
I remember the king’s face when he heard. Denial. Refusal. Desire to dismiss the report outright had all but oozed from every fiber of his being. Unfortunately, it was the truth. We’d checked every inch of the wards ten times over, and nothing was wrong with them.
A few days later, the Archmage had been ordered to cease the investigation of the wards and to prioritize finding the original source of the problem—a task he hadn’t had much enthusiasm to undertake. It was a reluctance I’d quickly found myself sharing. For how could we even begin to investigate the impossible made manifest?
And as I stared at the Magestone, I’d started to wonder if the attacks weren’t just the result of Empras reaping what it had sown. What we had sown.
How many lives had been spent to strengthen the Magestone? The king might have ordered the sacrifices, but it was the Archmage who’d wielded the sword—the Archmage and his direct subordinates. In other words, we Highmages.
The king had tested the Magestone’s life-prolonging powers on the mages before he’d used it on himself. Four of us had undergone the potentially fatal experiment—the Archmage and three of his assistants, myself included. The rest of the world might be unaware of how many lives had been sacrificed, but not the four of us. I knew exactly how much blood had been spilled to strengthen the Magestone. I knew how many lives had ended so that my own could continue on. And I could still remember how many of those lives had been wasted in vain, to fuel attempts that ended in failure.
I’ve never been able to forget that girl—to forget the way she’d glared at me until the very end, refusing to look away. I was happy at the time. I’d been granted near-eternal life, and in doing so, I’d become something more—something better than others. In my mind, the girl had no right to look at me with such distaste. I was better than her after all. I’d hit her over and over again, but still, she hadn’t looked away.
Back then, I’d still thought that I was superior.
I’d thought that power was everything. To those who held power, everything was possible. Everything was permissible.
Indeed, the days had passed smoothly ever since. Nothing had ever been powerful enough to stop us, and so, we hadn’t. Tens of sacrifices had turned to hundreds; hundreds had turned to thousands.
But something had now changed. I couldn’t shake the image of the girl’s eyes from my mind, and the words she’d screamed echoed in my skull.
“The world will never forgive you.”
The words spilled out of my mind and escaped unbidden from my lips. The mage beside me shuddered—one of the few people who’d heard the words before and remembered when they had been spoken.
The beast monarchs should have been suppressed by the power of the Magestone— No. They had been suppressed. Our investigations had proven that much at least. Therefore, the monarchs weren’t the ones attacking Empras, but something greater—maybe even something greater than we could comprehend.
The forest had long been regarded as the center of the world, and thus, a being who controlled the forest could also control the world itself, just as our king had always desired. But perhaps... Perhaps the position he’d fought to attain had already been taken long ago. Another king within the forest—a king of the world. Or perhaps the presence—if it did even exist—was more recent, something summoned by the beast monarchs. Otherwise, why had we continued unchallenged until now?
The king of the world...
I couldn’t begin to imagine how much power such a being would hold. I didn’t want to, for that divine power—that righteous anger—was now squarely directed at us. Retribution for Empras’s crimes.
Guilt gnawed at my heart—guilt I hadn’t realized still remained within me. I’d thrown away every emotion and belief save for those necessary to serve the king—particularly those emotions that hindered my duties. Guilt had been chief among them. Apparently, I hadn’t severed the emotion as well as I’d thought.
I glanced at the Magestone again.
It’s supposed to be the strongest thing in the world. I never imagined it could be damaged, let alone this badly. How many more lives will it cost to repair the cracks—if they can be repaired? And even if so...
Will the king of the world even allow us to try?