Chapter 3: A Mage in the Market
The scent of roasted grain, woodsmoke, and meat filled the air, warm and inviting in the icy cold. The adventurers gathered close to the fire, their breath misting in the heat as they shared stories and warmth. The wind tugged at their cloaks, whistling through the trees and sending wisps of smoke spiraling into the sky.
“Why not take the portal routes?” one worker asked over his meal, staring into the fire.
“They’re too pricey,” Garrick said, his voice steady, the shadows flickering across his face. “And they don’t connect everywhere. You’d still end up spending half the journey by cart. This route may be slower, but it’s reliable.”
He listened quietly, his gaze fixed on the flames. Garrick turned to him, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What about you? Why not take a portal if you’ve got magic to spare?”.
“Sometimes,” he murmured, staring into the golden glow of the fire, “the longer road offers solace.”
The words were met with silence, the crackling fire and the distant sigh of wind in the trees offering nothing but shadows and contemplation.
Garrick raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.
To break the uncomfortable silence, a young adventurer spoke up. “So why all the extra muscle this time?” he asked, his gaze flicking to Garrick.
Garrick stirred his stew thoughtfully. “The usual tales,” he said, his voice low. “Strange activity near the border. Monsters, maybe. Could be nothing, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
Another adventurer snorted. “It’s probably just beasts. Happens every once in a while.”
Garrick shook his head. “Maybe. But I’ve been doing this long enough to know when something feels off.
He listened in silence, his hood casting shadows over his face. The mention of monsters stirred faint unease in him, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
On the third night, they stopped in a small clearing. Fires crackled, their light casting flickering shadows on the surrounding trees. Travelers huddled around the warmth, their breath misting as they shared meals and stories.
It was here that the adventurers, unable to contain their curiosity anymore, began to murmur.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said a wiry spearman, his tone laced with both awe and skepticism. “That mage earlier—lifting all those crates like they weighed nothing. No effort, no strain.”
The adept mage, adjusting her robes, glanced over at the spearman, her expression unreadable but her voice filled with the weight of experience. “You should be glad I’m in this party,” she said with a smirk. “Mages at my level? We’re usually in the academies, buried in research or guiding apprentices. Out here? You’d be lucky to find us.”
The spearman raised an eyebrow, but she continued, her tone shifting to something more informative, almost amused at his ignorance.
“Let me put it this way. Novice-level mages are barely scratching the surface of their potential. They might manage a spark or a flicker of light, but little more. Apprentices, on the other hand, have a solid grasp of the basics. They can conjure small flames, erect barriers, or heal minor wounds. They’ve got power, but it’s still in its early stages. But someone like me?” She raised her hand, palm open, the faintest shimmer of magic dancing across her skin. “I’m an adept. I can control fire, summon creatures, manipulate elements, and wield magic in combat. My magic has weight, real substance. In battle, a mage like me tips the scales. While soldiers fight with strength, I shape the battlefield, turning the tide with a range of powerful spells. A battle filled with adept mages? It’s a force to be reckoned with.”
The spearman raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying you’re one of those Adept Mages, huh?”
She nodded, then gave him a knowing smile. “But you want to know what comes after me? Experts—mages who’ve mastered magic across multiple disciplines. They wield sustained, powerful magic, capable of manipulating several forces at once. They can control storms, reshape the landscape, and maintain combat spells for hours. Even they don’t come close to what archmages can do. Archmages are the ones who truly change the course of battles, shifting the tides of war with a single spell. They’re rare—fortunate is the kingdom that has even two. Archmages are incredibly powerful, capable of feats that seem impossible, but they’re still bound by the rules of the world. They can alter a battlefield, stop a storm, or create magical constructs, but they can’t truly bend reality.”
She paused, her tone growing more reverent as she continued. “Sovereign mages? They’re legends. Throughout history, only a few have appeared, and when they did, they left a mark on the world—shifting wars, erasing kingdoms with nothing but a single word. But even they couldn’t reshape reality. They could alter time’s perception or create temporary wormholes, but that’s the extent of their power.” “But even they can’t hold a candle to her”
The spearman with intrigue in his tone asked “Who?”
The mage said with reverence, “The pinnacle of mages, Vidhyādhara Kieran. Some say she reached a level beyond sovereigns, but nobody knows what that means or if she’s even still alive. The stories say she could shape reality, manipulate time—some even claim she could unravel magic itself. But the truth is, no one really knows the extent of her power, or if she still walks among us. All we know for sure is that her strength surpassed anything we’ve seen… even from the Sovereigns.” She smirked and continued, “Surely even a halfwit like you would have heard about her at least once?” Her tone was condescending, yet playful.
The spearman, looking more annoyed than before, snapped, “Who’re you calling an halfwit?” His voice was a bit louder than usual, showing he was getting worked up.
At that moment, a few of the others nearby snickered, trying to stifle their laughs. One of them couldn’t hold back and burst out in a laugh, “Look at his face!” Another added, “He’s about to start a fight over nothing!”
The spearman’s face flushed red as he shot them a glare, but when he saw the amused expressions on everyone else, his anger faded a bit. He crossed his arms, shaking his head, trying to look tough but clearly fighting back a smile. “I’m serious!” he muttered, but his attempt to stay upset was completely undermined by the laughter of his companions.
He had sought solace from the weight of his memories and guilt, but the mention of Kieran shattered that fragile reprieve. Before those memories could take hold, he sensed presences drawing near silently.
The camp buzzed with laughter as the adventurers relaxed after a long day’s journey. The crackling fire illuminated their faces, casting playful shadows that danced in rhythm with their conversation. Yet, even amid the light-hearted banter, an uneasy shift lingered in the air, unnoticed by most. The beastfolk warrior named Kaela, with their sharp feline senses, was already aware of something stirring in the dark. The forest sounds—leaves rustling, branches shifting—felt just a bit too intentional. Something was moving beyond the reach of the firelight.
Kaela’s amber eyes scanned the darkness, her ears twitching to catch the slightest sound—the snap of a branch underfoot, the faint rustle of movement. She froze, her muscles tensing. “Something’s moving,” she murmured, her voice low, but enough to draw the attention of her comrades.
Across from her, Lyra, the mage, paused mid-conversation. Trusting Kaela’s instincts, she began tracing a warding spell, designed to alert the group of anything approaching. The spell hummed softly as it activated, sending a ripple through the air. Lyra’s eyes narrowed as the magic flashed bright for a moment. “We’ve got intruders,” she whispered, her voice tight with tension. “Get ready.”
Kaela’s voice rang out, commanding and sharp. “Everyone, prepare yourselves! Don’t let your guard down and protect the non-combatants.”
Nearby, the elf Alaric, who had been distracted by the glow of the fire as he cleaned his bow, immediately straightened. His sharp green eyes darted to the surrounding trees as he slung the quiver over his shoulder. His bow was already in his hands, an extension of his body, as he scanned the darkness with deadly precision.
The spearman, Dain, seated beside the fire, tightened his grip on the weapon resting against his knee. With a smooth, practiced motion, he rose to his feet, the spear’s tip glinting in the firelight. His posture shifted, alert, every muscle coiled and prepared for an imminent strike.
The group moved swiftly into position, taking full advantage of the small clearing. Lyra and the non-combatants were ushered into the center, guarded by two of thel ess experienced younger adventurers, their weapons at the ready, trembling slightly in their grip.