Ever since she could comprehend meaning, the words had been bestowed upon Verena: you shall be a mage. For her eldest brother and sister the words held weight, importance. For Verena it was merely an afterthought, something to not slur their illustrious name.

The Hargraves. Second cousin to some nephew from another far-flung relation to the arch queen herself. It had all led to this day. This moment. She had read all the texts. Memorized the rituals. As the circle of priests in their dusty hooded robes spoke their useless archaic prayers, Verena bit down on her urge to smile. For she knew it was all a sham, except for one thing, and that was the gate facing her.

The looming black frame, wider than it was tall, was so dark there was no sheen to its smooth stonelike surface. An object of the Mythic, the ones that came before. So it was said. So it was remembered. Well, there were some lines that did hold true after all…

The power that she would wield was something that did not come from this world, not entirely. When the gate thrummed open at the watcher’s touch, its frame was filled with darkness, tendrils of shadow smoking out, only to drift away before the harsh light that poured through the skylight above.

Verena stepped forward. Another step, and another towards the gate, until she was so close its sifting shadows tickled her face like smoke. She passed a hand through the gate and pulled it back, wiggling her fingers. The ebon Aoc crystal, a fragment of the Ash of Creation, hung at her neck, still tethering her to this world. Now she would have to tether something from the other side.

She walked into the darkness.

The light from the other side was near blinding, yet Verena did not shirk away. She was still in the sanctum. The chamber was bare but for the gate, now a font of brilliant white light. Smoking shadow drifted through the skylight above. There was no circle of mages. She looked down upon her hands – they were glowing, she was illuminated. Darkness was now light, and light was now darkness.

She had to find a spirit before the gate closed. Before her Aoc crystal was torn apart between worlds and she was trapped in the other world, the Ether. Those that had ventured before into this realm had recorded that time worked differently in the Ether. Some stated that they spent what felt like days, months, even years searching for a spirit. Those that came back after too long away were no longer of their world. Others spoke that the spirits came to them quickly and had come back through the gate after days, months, even years had passed on the other side.

She descended a spiral staircase. Soft white emanated from the wall, the black streaks of shadow creeping in between.

She heard them then. Whispers, something intangible yet present, everywhere. She followed the whispers and soon she was outside. She recognized the capital, the city of Delphi. There was not a living soul besides her, and black fell from above, in between the shining spires and pointed forms. There was no sun. Darkness veiled the shimmering city.

Verena gathered herself. Focus. Tether yourself to the other side.

She closed her eyes, forced herself to calm her shallow breathing, though she did not feel herself breathing, if any sensation at all. Every movement was an echo, every sound a movement. There. The whispers were coming from a winking light, blue in the white haze.

She rushed towards it, running, then floating, then flying. It escaped her grasp, taunting her in its mischief. Soon there was no light, just her and the dim blue spirit and darkness. She stepped towards it, raising one fumbling hand to feel… nothing, and… a room.

Suddenly, she found herself sitting down in an ornate chair beside a long table, facing her two elder siblings, her father and stepmother sitting at one end. It was the dining hall of the Hargraves’ estate, crystal candleholders and decanters glinting under the lights of the multi-faceted chandelier.

Verena was trapped within the room. She knew this day. She had lived it. The clink of silverware. The aroma of charred beef. A bland flavor of a once green vegetable now wilted grey. Her siblings glanced across at her with similar distaste.

Her father spoke, his knife scraping into meat. “Tilda. Guther. How goes your training?”

Her sister said, “Tutor Quinn teaches us bladework as well as Haolan philosophy. He says it is good to know your enemy’s beliefs, to know what beholds them.”

Her brother smiled ruefully. “So as to use such knowledge to our advantage and shatter their resolve.”

Father nodded. “Good. You have progressed well, the both of you.”

They continued their eating.

Verena spoke then, “What of the martial education and philosophy that I learned when I was a fledgling, father? No questions for such a trivial person as myself?”

Her father hammered his fist against the table. “You will be silent.” He shook his head, scoffing. “Such hubris for one not even a mage. Should you return from your ascension, you shall be married off to Count Luger.”

“When were you going to tell me of this?” she felt her blood curdling. “I would rather be mortalborn than marry such a creature.”

Her father paused in his cutting. He bellowed, “You ungrateful little worm. The only reason you live is because of my line! Be gladdened you are of my blood, to be granted such a marriage. You will follow this arrangement, or I shall have your rite of ascension denied!”

Her half-siblings smirked.

Verena bowed her head. “Forgive me… Father. I shall follow your word.”

“See to it that you succeed your ascension. Return to us as a right to wear our name.”

The spirit, the creature, she realized. It was poring through her mind, exploring her being. It retreated from the feelings bleeding through her memory. Helplessness. Loneliness. The things she had inherited. How she had been torn down, reshaped. It did not understand, and attempted to flee.

Verena caught it like a glowfly in a jar. She tethered the spirit to her. The pale city reformed around her and she stood on solid ground once more. She felt the spirit panic, searching for escape.

You are mine now. Be still or know my pain.

She made her way back to the sanctum, returning to the gate of light. Shadow twisted from the opening, only to be quenched and devoured from the seething brightness.

She entered back into the light of her world.

There was no longer the circle of priests, only the watcher that knelt near naked underneath the skylight, a greying man.

He raised his head to regard Verena as she looked down upon him.

“So you have returned,” he croaked. “What color was your spirit?”

“Blue.”

“Ah. A wisp. One with the airic element. Or was it a nymph, of the hydric? Regardless, they are always seeking freedom, drawn to those without.”

Verena snorted. “How long was I gone, old man?”

He shrugged. “Long enough.” He held out a hand. “Your crystal.”

She removed her necklace, placing it upon the watcher’s creased palm. At its end, the once ink black Aoc crystal was now clear as glass. The wizened man covered the crystal with both of his clasped fists. The air blurred between his fingers. He opened his trembling hands. The crystal was now a gleaming sapphire.

He extended his hands out to her. “May you wear your mark with dignity and service, for the Empire.”

Verena plucked the warm jewel, eyeing it under the sun, motes of dust floating past.

She dropped her mark and it shattered into bright blue fragments on the ground. The watcher cowered back.

“Tell my father, Baius Hargraves, that I am a mage,” she said. “And I shall not serve in the order, nor to his will.” Verena smiled, her teeth glinting hard in the sun’s light. “I call to be, instead, to be initiated into the Order of Wraiths.”