"'ℭ𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱' 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔩𝔞𝔴 𝔬𝔣 𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔢 𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔴 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰."

 ~𝔔𝔲𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔄𝔯𝔨𝔦𝔰, 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔐𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪, 𝔄𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪 (𝔄𝔗) ճճճ

☩

Mai's boots crunched as he made for the glint of gold at the top of the rise. The bleached bone cracked like dried shells beneath his feet, and grey dust drifted in the air, clinging to his dripping hair and clothing, and leaving a smokey, gritty paste in his mouth.

The wave had come upon his fleet suddenly. An unnatural thing; like a refracted wall of water breaking off one of Nebia's sea walls — only much, much larger. Élan vital was weak in water. So as the wave descended, it had petered out enough for him to spin a refraction of air; enough to save all but four ships on the periphery. But not to drown out the screams of the men in them. His fists clenched.

As he walked, skeletal pieces skittered away in tinkling harmonies, exposing a darker trail of steaming ash. Despite the hot wind, he shivered and brushed a spiral of black hair away from his eyes.

When he reached his destination, he stopped, crouched down, and swept aside debris of ivory splinters and a quarter mandible. The burn of metal against skin made him grimace as he picked up the crown. My crown now. His hands shook as he examined it. The delicate pattern of filigree leaves had twisted into tangles more reminiscent of a briar bush. Apt for the world left him. He breathed deep and willed calm, thumbing the gold as he took in the desolation.

Ozone crackled through the air, and the sun shone hot and white, burning away the dark clouds and revealing a too turquoise sky. A long shadow stretched to his right, thrown by the remains of the citadel. Its walls and terraces of limestone blocks still clung to the cliff face; a mausoleum looming over the graveyard below. The sentinel statues of past kings and theurgy had fallen, though. They lay in beds of rubble as the testaments to the once fragrant hanging gardens of date palms, oleander, and rose.

His father had loved those gardens.

Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Mai turned full circle. Hypat lay devastated. Probably the whole of Denea too — at least that which had been habitable. The painstaking centuries of desert greening undone in a matter of minutes. All to keep the bloodlines 'pure.'

Damned, stubborn mages.

A tick twitched at his jaw. It was more than that. Denea had been too proud. And Arkis had played this. Mai's birth and his father's insistence on teaching him the Carnelian Way had been the perfect excuse to amp up the intensity of the Theurgerium's gradual defection from the monarchy. Xenophobia was a more direct route to power than intrigue.

Well, he might be a half-blood, but he was as strong in the Carnelian Way as any mage. Proof clean blood was unnecessary. Just the right blood.

He shook his head. Such a waste. Yet the results intrigued him. The corner of his mouth tugged up on one side. If this power could be harnessed and re-directed, its potential was limitless — for those deserving of it.

His mother's people had not abandoned him in his time of need: when his father died, and his people hunted him down. A gift he intended to repay a thousand times over

As he gazed across the azure blue of Hypat Bay, a hundred ideas sparked in his mind. Winters were cold — even in the south of Eurora, and infant mortality high. A prolonged drought meant enforced rationing and subsequent discontent. He could change that.

On a sigh, he stood, tapping the headpiece and releasing a hollow whistle on the wind as he considered what to do next. At the base of the hill, near the water, a dark mass of soldiers lingered. Time to lead. A nod, and a man, wearing a high-peaked helmet, started slowly toward him.

Mai pivoted back to the citadel and realised the keep was gone. A pity. The balcony had been his favourite haunt as a child. From its vantage, he imagined he could see all the way past the Alexia Sea to Fressian Bay in the north-west, and the pink city of Nebia directly north as the crow flew. He continued upwards toward the ruin, curious as to what he would find.

He found a pile of indigo blue. Pinching a fold of the charred fabric between his thumb and forefinger, he flicked it back. Waxy, sallow skin draped over a prominent skull like the countenance of a mummified corpse. Dead. Disappointed twinged within him. A moment to farewell the High Mage would have been appreciated.

As if responding to the thought, two bright-yellow eyes popped open then settled into narrow slits. A rattle sounded, and one word hissed from between melted lips. "You."

Mai reached out a fine-boned hand to cup the mage's cheek. He cradled it almost tenderly. "Hello, Arkis."

Arkis started to cough, spraying blood. Mai wiped his face with a hand, fascinated. The bright red moved like quicksilver across his alabaster skin, and his veins swelled to the surface, blue and pulsing.

"You're dying, Arkis. You failed."

More coughing followed — a snicker he realised as a fresh spray covered him. Grinning, he licked his lips. The flavour of honeysuckle emerged from the metallic tang. His body thrummed in response and the hairs on his arms stood on end as a pang of hunger unlike any before grew within him.

"Your blood is sweet. Is this what leeching the land tastes like?" The eyes narrowed further, and Mai scoffed. "I wonder, did you enjoy it, Arkis?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. The mage's maw pulled into a tight line, and the thin chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm. Mai smiled. "Ah, I see you did — not so pious now." The beat became erratic, then slowed rapidly. "But I see you grow tired. Let me help you"

Mai drew blood from his face with a long finger, calling the droplets to him. The beads trembled like metal filings dangling from a magnet. "Here." He pushed the finger into Arkis' mouth; past the smooth hardness of gums, to the sticky lump of a tongue. Arkis' groaned and squirmed. A ghost of a blush dusted his cheeks.

"You feel it too?" Mai let out a chuckle. "Even better than that girl you kept?"

The withered head jerked, and the yellow eyes widened.

"I know more than you think, Arkis. My father was a kind man, but no fool. He knew of your indiscretions. On that note, how is your son?"

The rattling resumed. Mai leaned in close to decipher the words.

"It's... done... nothing... left."

Mai started to laugh. A rumble of thunder rolled above them and a prickle formed at his nape. "There is plenty left, High Mage." He sat, lifted the mage's head and rested it in his lap; stroking first from the singed scalp to the concave jaw, and then, in ever-smaller strokes till he circled the Carnelian Crystal sunk into the forehead. His fingers gripped it, the nails digging in deep to get underneath. The gem peeled off with a sucking sound.

Throwing the crystal up casually and catching it, as if it wasn't the most precious resource in the known world, Mai spoke. "I know there are more of these, beneath us."

The yellow eyes closed, and the head turned away.

"And if I know you," he inclined closer and whispered into the black pit where his ear had been, "there will be more, moving, treasures waiting for me in the south." Mai squeezed the crystal in one fist and laid the other palm on Arki's chest. "Anything else to tell me?" Silence. "I didn't think so."

He sucked in and drank until he felt resistance. Arkis' fingers clawed. The parched windpipe grated on each shallow breath. Mai sighed. Two of his fingertips pressed against the man's sternum as he stabbed the man with a knife of electricity. The body convulsed once and stilled.

Tsking, Mai rolled the corpse off him. The egg-sized crystal hovered over the front of the crown as he mouthed silent words. Gold branches untangled and latched on to the white stone, moulding around the edges and holding it firm. He stood from his bed of bones and his crown followed, settling on his head.

His mother had always said he would be King. Now he was — twice over.

A man, dressed in the embossed maroon leather, flowing silk trousers and high, brown boots of a general, approached with hesitant movements. A saffron plume swayed in the breeze while he waited. Mai eventually acknowledged him with the flick of a hand.

"My Prince."

"Your Grace."

The officer gulped. "Forgive me, Your Grace."

Mai faced inland. "There are survivors; heading southwards, following the River Niger. Send a platoon of your swiftest men after them. Now."

The man saluted and jumped to action.

"And, general."

The man froze and looked up. "Your Grace?"

"Don't harm the young ones. They are our future."