The room was oddly quiet.
Jass Koti, President of the Parliament of Magi, noted with unease that the Leader of Opposition – Kaiza Kama, had not flashed his usual smug smile even once which unsettled him.
He leaned toward his old friend, Fazil, Head of the Wizard Council, and whispered, "What are they up to with this emergency meeting?"
Fazil sighed. "Every two years they're allowed one, so they call it; emergency or not. You know how shameless these Loyalists are."
"This is not just another one of their hysterical fits. Look at them."
Fazil took a moment, watched. The President looked too, not at the man in the opposition but at his friend; on whose face he had read an old tell.
"What don't I know?" he asked dreading.
Fazil looked at him his eyes slightly wider "I can't say. Because we don't know ourselves."
The President lied back in his chair rubbing his forehead and looked at the inner sanctum's ceiling. The sapphires and emeralds embedded in the white of mazuk and it looked like a galaxy of its own with swirling mists and shining stars. It still shocked him that something that beautiful could be sculpted by a wizard.
It was also a painful reminder of the lost knowledge of the Otherworld.
No matter how hard he and his predecessors had tried, they'd never been able to recapture that brilliance. They had never created something of such beauty, not for all the magic in their blood. The old world and its magic was gone. The Loyalists had long used that grief to stir nostalgia, pushing to restore power to the Raya—the last of the Royals. But the President had fought against that his whole life, he knew no Raya or Raini could bring back the glory of the old world.
But it was hard to convince some people because all they understood was power and in power truly the Raya were supreme. Koti himself remembered standing in front of the old Raya in this very hall and such had been the king's effect that he'd accepted the King's recommendation for appointing the current Mahamantor without so much as a protest. A mistake. But then again—who could say no to the Raya?
The ceremonial bell then rang.
He with his council of wizards stood up in acknowledgement of the Mahamantor, who came in wearing the flowing gold Rajavastra. His lips curled in disgust at the pageantry of the Mahamantor who always took far too much delight in this ritual. The council including him stood not out of respect for him, but for the seat of the Mahamantor – a symbol of the fulcrum of balance between the houses of the Parliament of Magic.
But no Mahamantor Koti had known had respected that balance. Each one had seen the seat as a throne. And ironically, they all had once been Alchemists – scholars and administrators. The present mahamantor – Sahu Koru was perhaps the worst he had seen in his life. The man was a lech and by all accounts a flat-out drunk. His appointment by the Raya was another evidence of why Raya's were terrible judges of character.
"By the blessings of the old blood," the Mahamantor began in a gravelly voice, "I welcome you all to the first assembly of the winter session."
He sat.
"This emergency meeting has been called by the leader of opposition, to whom I now give the floor."
Kama stood. "Respected Mahamantor, I won't waste time."
Koti's heart rate quickened. Kama never skipped theatrics.
"It is my misfortune that today I must bring to our attention that what has happened in the last fortnight. This information if it got out to the common wizard and witch of our and the other kingdoms," Kama took a breath and for a second, he truly did seem scared "the results would be disastrous."
Koti sat straighter.
"I am now in possession of information which shall reveal that our current President has failed our kingdom. We know our war with the rebels of Kamirz continues. That they remain a threat largely because of the President's romantic notions of peace."
He paused.
"Now... by accounts from our own Shadow Sorcerers, the rebels have formed a coalition of Alchemists—and Necromancers."
Koti allowed himself a breath. That again. Necromancers were old legends. Unconfirmed and the Ministry's Alchemists were unmatched. He felt a flicker of irritation, not panic.
Then Kama continued.
"And now, in a spectacular strategic failure, they've captured one of our Alchemists."
Gasps echoed across the chamber. Koti's heart dropped. He fought the urge to look at Fazil, keeping his face neutral.
"If any believe me a liar," Kama said, "I invite the President to stand and face the trial of Smoke."
"Fire to the old blood." Koti swore and finally looked at Fazil who was as white as a Snow-scale dragon.
"And so," Kama added, "I demand an immediate explanation. And if the council collective and the Mahamantor finds the explanations ineffective... I shall motion for a vote of no-confidence."
A wave of shock ran through the President's heart. In the kingdom's long history, only one President had ever faced such a disgrace. Fazil rose slowly and spoke now to the gallery and the Mahamantor in a cool voice.
"It is a shame that greed and ambitions has turned the Leader of Opposition to take such desperate measures. I shall remove all doubts now and lay rest to all these false claims." Koti looked at Fazil and his eyes never left his back as he spoke. "Our Alchemist, whose identity shall remain protected, was sent a fortnight ago as part of a covert infiltration mission. The last message received confirmed his presence in enemy territory."
Fazil's eyes scanned the room. "I now ask: how does the Leader of Opposition have this information, known only to me, the President, and the Head of Shadow Sorcerers?"
The chamber turned toward Kama.
And now... Koti saw the smile, that infuriating smug smile. Kama's purple robes shimmered, catching the sapphire light of the ceiling.
"When," he said softly, "I ask when was the last message received from our alchemist?"
Fazil narrowed his eyes.
Kama reached into his robes. "Because this artifact was sent to my office yesterday."
He held it up. A black sphene gemstone glass—charred, faintly glowing from within. A chill settled over the chamber. Kama walked to the altar of sanctum and placed the black glass gently on the obsidian pedestal reserved for trial of artefacts.
The Mahamantor leaned forward, his face tight with irritation but betraying a flicker of unease. "Do you know the weight of what you present."
"I do which is why I bring it here," Kama said. "Before the council, before your seat."
Koti watched the Mahamantor rise, drawing his ceremonial wand—a thin rod of Silverwood examining the stone with spells too complicated for anyone to understand other than the Alchemists. "Black Sphene," the Mahamantor finally muttered under his breath. "Forbidden glass. Grows only where death has spoken. We have records of this glass from the great wars."
He circled the glass once, then turned to the gallery.
"In the name of the people of Eldrin and its Raya, I now invoke the Spell of Shattering Light."
The chamber darkened. From high above, the ceiling sapphires dimmed, casting the hall into a half-shadow. The Mahamantor raised his wand and whispered in Old Tongue:
"Atri dumek velas, noor ashen"
The wand tip struck the glass with a sharp crack.
The black glass cracked once, then burst open in a soft shimmer, spilling white smoke into the air, not rising but slithering low over the dais like a living mist. It began to take shape, lines twisted on lines and turned, swirling until the smoke formed a scene clear as crystal.
A rocky plain, scorched, scattered with bones. Seven rebels in white cloaks stood around a bound figure kneeling in the dust. Koti's stomach dropped. It was their Alchemist.
The chamber held its breath.
One of the rebels stepped forward. A man, his face veiled and the wand in his covered in green fire. His voice came through the smoke like a wind from the grave.
"To the Kingdom of Eldrin and its Parliament of Magi: You speak of peace while killing us and burning our clans."
"No more." he raised a charred blade.
The alchemist stirred, looked up. Blood at the mouth. One eye swollen shut. "You've sent him to spy. To steal. Now watch what loyalty buys."
The blade swung once.
The alchemist's head slumped forward, blood spilling into the dirt. The white smoke rippled, someone in the chamber sobbed. Koti felt the burn in his throat but said nothing. The rebels stepped aside.
From the smoke, a new figure emerged, walking slowly into view. A witch in a burnt-red hooded cloak, her face was pale, and it was without a doubt the most beautiful face, the President had ever seen in his life.
Her long black hair fell beside the corpse as she knelt beside hi,. No words were spoken, only a whisper of air left the wizard's lips, and the ground around him darkened. The corpse twitched and then arched. A guttural gasp echoed through the chamber.
The dead alchemist's body lifted, mouth agape. Eyes still vacant, but now glowing faintly. And then, in a voice cracked and distant like wind through a broken flute, it spoke:
"Shereen… my love… forgive me…"
The rebels stood watching. No joy. No remorse. The pale witch with burning red eyes turned toward the smoke-view, and though her face remained shadowed, all who watched knew it:
They had a Necromancer.
The scene collapsed. The smoke vanished in a blink, sucked back into the pedestal. Only silence remained.
The Mahamantor slowly lowered his wand. He looked at Koti. And for once, the haughtiness was gone.
"I… I confirm the artefact as authentic," he said. Kama's voice rang out: "There can be no greater failure of intelligence. Our alchemist falls. The enemy commands the dead."
Koti couldn't speak. His tongue felt made of ash.