Daemon was laying sideways on the throne as usual, his eyes closed. He could hear the crowds outside the throne room… the anger of the Anzinians. They’d been in uproar for months, angered by the ban of magic, and the strict enforcement of the new laws. Many mages had been arrested, and the dungeons were getting full.

“Sire…” One of the guards approached him, and knelt down on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. He put his hands up, instead of putting his fist over his heart—a change that Daemon had made as King of Anzino. He didn’t trust magic-users anymore, and demanded that all mages keep their palms in plain sight to prove they weren’t a threat.

“What do you want?” Daemon asked, eyeing the guard. “I’m not going to speak with anyone out there.”

“Your Highness, please,” he begged. “This kingdom is not going to survive much longer if we don’t do something. There must be some solution that doesn’t involve filling our dungeons with mages.”

“What would you suggest, then?” Daemon asked, sitting up slowly.

He at least looked better than he had before. He’d cleaned himself up, and was wearing the crown.

“This kingdom has thrived under the use of magic for centuries. Prince Nero’s death was a tragic accident, but the people need their magic. There must be some middle ground we can meet, where the commonfolk are able to sustain their lives without risk of imprisonment.”

Daemon was quiet, a dark look on his face. He looked like he was considering what the guard had told him. He stood slowly and smoothed the front of his shirt.

“You’re sounding a lot like the people in the dungeons. I think you’ve been spending too much time with the commonfolk,” Daemon said. He snapped his fingers, and two other guards seized the man. “Get him out of my sight. I have no use for conspirators. Nero and my father dealt with enough treachery while they were alive.”

“I’m not a traitor!” the man struggled to break free as the other guards took him away. “You can’t do this! I swore to protect this kingdom and you’re destroying it!”

Daemon went back to his throne and sat down, letting out a long breath before turning to the remaining guards in the room.

“Clear out the castle. Arrest anyone who refuses to leave, then sweep the city for unlawful use of magic.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Daemon got worse and worse by the day, and the people of Anzino lived in fear and anger.

There were a couple of unsuccessful attempts to take King Daemon’s life, but all it did was tighten Daemon’s iron grip on the kingdom. Anyone who spoke out against him would be arrested, and the Royal Guard made daily sweeps of the kingdom, arresting anyone who might still be using magic.

He became angry and paranoid, spending most of his time pacing the throne room. Many worried for his health and his state of mind, but no one dared speak about it, especially not in Anzino Castle, where anything might easily get back to the king. The soldiers did as they were told, even if they didn’t agree with King Daemon, lest they be the next ones to occupy the dungeon cells.

So, Daemon and the kingdom slowly deteriorated together.

Homes were abandoned, many ended up in the streets with no way to sustain themselves any longer. The industrial and shopping districts began to fall apart, and instead became gathering places for those without a home left to huddle around each other for warmth and support.

Of course, there were those who still dared to do magic. They hid in dark cellars and gathered in the dead of night, searching for a solution. There must be something to be done.

The raids were getting more frequent. Less and less magic users were left in Anzino, either being arrested by the Royal Guard or fleeing to other kingdoms.

In the dead of night, the last few Sorcerers outside of the Arnaldo family gathered, deep in the catacombs, in a wine cellar beneath the church. It was warm and dry and quiet, and well-hidden from those who didn’t already know where it was.

They stood around a crate, holding hands. On top of the crate, there was a spirit board. It was a last resort… a desperate attempt to save their kingdom.

“Please,” one of the Sorcerers whispered, “help us find a solution. How can we end this era of tyranny?”

The Sorcerers’ hands all glowed, and as they did, the planchette atop the spirit board began to glow as well. Everyone watched with wide eyes and bated breath as it slowly slid its way around the board, spelling out the answer.

N E R O

“Oh, come on.” One of the Sorcerers rolled his eyes and yanked his hands free from the others. “Do you thinks this is some kind of joke? We’re being wiped out by the king, and you’re messing around? Prince Nero is dead!”

“It wasn’t me.”

“I want a solution just as much as anyone else,” another said. “Why would we be messing around?”

Despite the Sorcerers no longer holding hands, the planchette continued to glow, and it began to move on its own again.

A L I V E

“I’m going home,” another Sorcerer said, putting up her hood. “I came here to find a real solution. I knew this was a desperate move, but this isn’t funny.”

The planchette moved once again, and the tension in the room was practically tangible.

F I N D N E R O

“Enough!” One of the Sorcerers shot a burst of flames at the spirit board out of anger.

The spirit board exploded into flames, and everyone stepped back as they turned an ominous shade of green, engulfing the crate under it, as well.

Form the flames, images began to form. They were unclear and smoky at first, but as everyone watched, the images took shape.

They showed images of the magic duel between Prince Nero and his father, when the King sent an enormous barrage of lightning crashing down on him. Nero’s strange power to disperse magic worked at first, but it was clearly taking a toll on him, the lightning getting closer and closer while he tried to hold it at bay.

The two library assistants rushed in, unseen by the crowd due to the dust and smoke, and used their own magic power to redirect the lightning to the ground around Nero, creating a massive explosion. They whisked Nero away from there as quickly as they could before the smoke cleared, hiding him away in the library until the dead of night, when they helped him sneak out of Anzino. The last image in the flames showed Nero alone, heading south, before the flames consumed the spirit board and went out with a large puff of smoke.

"Still think one of us is messing around with this?" one of the Sorcerers asked, and they all just stared at the place where the spirit board had been a moment earlier.

At their feet, burnt into the hardwood floor of the wine cellar, were the same three words as before:

F I N D N E R O

A L I V E