The mage wars.

It started in New Lione. With children screaming.

Adom could smell the smoke. Always the smoke first, acrid and wrong, carrying the scent of things that weren't meant to burn. Then came the sound—not quite human anymore, high and desperate and cutting through the air like broken glass.

He was standing in a square he'd never seen in person but knew from a hundred different accounts. Cobblestones slick with morning dew that would soon be slick with other things. Buildings that looked normal, peaceful even, their windows reflecting early sunlight like everything was fine.

It wasn't fine.

The Dragon's Breath had fallen on Kyreth eighteen months ago. One moment, a thriving coastal city of two hundred thousand people. The next, a crater of glass and ash that glowed green in the dark and killed anything that came within fifty miles. The survivors—all twelve of them—had stumbled out babbling about walls of fire that moved like living things and shadows that screamed.

Nations had reacted the way nations always reacted to things they didn't understand: by pointing fingers and declaring war.

Farmus dared to blame Senna for developing the weapon. Senna blamed Taldoren for funding the research. Taldoren blamed the Merchant Princes for selling the materials. Everyone blamed everyone, and meanwhile the crater that used to be Kyreth kept glowing.

But eventually, someone noticed a pattern.

Every nation that had contributed to Dragon's Breath had mages in their research programs. Every breakthrough that led to the weapon had come from magical research. Every single person involved in the project, from the lead scientists to the junior assistants, had some degree of magical ability.

Mages built Dragon's Breath. Mages had destroyed Kyreth. Mages were the problem.

The solution was obvious.

In the square, someone was building a pyre.

Adom tried to move, tried to look away, but nightmare logic held him in place. He could only watch as they dragged the first child forward—a girl, maybe eight years old, with tears streaming down her face and small sparks dancing between her fingers.

"She manifested yesterday," someone was saying. "Lit a candle without touching it."

The crowd murmured approval. Reasonable people making reasonable decisions about an unreasonable problem.

Tch.

"Please," the girl whispered. "I didn't mean to. I was just trying to help my Ma' with dinner."

But the world had gone mad already.

Intentions didn't matter anymore. Results mattered. Dragon's Breath mattered. The green glow that still pulsed where Kyreth used to be mattered.

Children who could light candles with their minds would grow up to build bigger fires.

The flames caught quickly.

The scene shifted, the way nightmares did, and suddenly Adom was watching neighbors turn on neighbors. Shopkeepers he'd bought bread from yesterday were dragging mage children from their hiding places. Teachers were handing over lists of students who'd shown "unusual abilities" during lessons.

"It's for the greater good," they kept saying. "We can't risk another Kyreth."

A boy about Adom's age was being forced to his knees in front of a different pyre. His crime had been healing a bird's broken wing. His mother was in the crowd, weeping but not protesting, because protesting meant you sympathized with mages, and sympathizing with mages meant you might be one yourself.

The paranoia spread like disease. Every unexplained event became evidence of hidden magic. Crops failing? Mage sabotage. Storms hitting at inconvenient times? Weather manipulation. Accidents in the mines? Obviously the work of earth mages trying to destabilize the economy.

Another shift, and Adom was in a different square, a different city, watching the same thing happen. Then another. And another. Hundreds of pyres across dozens of kingdoms, each one burning away the future one child at a time.

Salem had been the worst.

Three hundred mage children between the ages of five and sixteen, rounded up from across the Northeastern Provinces and brought to the town square. The officials had been very organized about it—lists of names, scheduled executions, even assigned seating for spectators.

They'd started with the youngest, because someone had decided it was more merciful that way.

By the time they finished, Salem itself was on fire. Someone in the crowd had noticed that the town's mayor had a mage daughter who'd been mysteriously absent from the proceedings. The discovery that she'd been hidden away instead of handed over for execution had triggered what the history books politely called "civil unrest."

The unrest spread. Mages who'd been in hiding revealed themselves to fight back. Non-mages who sympathized with them joined the resistance. Governments that had started the purges found themselves fighting on multiple fronts as their own citizens turned against them.

The Second Great War—the Mage Wars—had begun.

The nightmare shifted again, and Adom was looking at a communication crystal, listening to news from the eastern front. A woman's voice, professional and distant, delivering reports like she was reading a grocery list.

"The Sword Saint has fallen," the voice said. "Damus Lightbringer was found decapitated outside the ruins of Westmarch. His entire unit was eliminated. We believe the perpetrator was the individual known as the Mage Hunter."

Adom had stared at the crystal for a long time after the voice went silent.

Damus was dead. The same Damus who'd shoved him into mud puddles during childhood. Who'd called him "shrimp" because of physique. Who'd grown up to become one of the most fearsome battle mages of their generation, wielding a sword that could cut through anything and magic that could level buildings.

Decapitated by a woman who wasn't supposed to exist yet.

The nightmare showed him Thessarian Valdris then, standing over Damus's body with blood on her hands and that same too-bright smile. She looked exactly the same as she had on the dock—amber eyes behind thick glasses, black curly hair, fine features that should have been harmless.

But her hands were covered in blood, and there were bodies scattered around her like broken dolls. Not just Damus, but dozens of others. Mages who'd survived the purges, the wars, the paranoia, only to die at the hands of someone who hunted them with scientific precision.

"One less magical threat," she said to no one in particular, wiping her hands on a cloth that had probably belonged to one of her victims. "The world is safer now."

The scene shifted to show her methods. Not just killing, but studying. Taking notes on magical abilities, documenting weaknesses, building a comprehensive understanding of how mages fought so she could kill them more efficiently.

She approached it like a science project.

In the nightmare, people cheered when they heard the news. The same people who'd been begging for magical protection just months before were celebrating the death of the mages who'd tried to provide it.

"Good riddance," they said. "Should have done this years ago."

"Maybe now we can have some peace."

"The only good mage is a dead mage."

Fear made people cruel in ways that would have been unthinkable just months before.

But fear also made them wasteful.

The mage wars lasted seven years and ended with both sides exhausted, bitter, and suspicious of everyone around them. The peace treaties were signed in rooms where every participant was checked for magical ability before being allowed to enter. The new governments that emerged were specifically designed to prevent mages from holding positions of power.

Which might have worked, if the stress of war hadn't triggered mass manifestations of magical ability across the population.

Another shift, and Adom was older now, sickly and pale, watching from his bedroom window as soldiers marched past. The Third Great War had started—Volkan expansionism threatening the eastern kingdoms—and suddenly everyone remembered that mages were useful for things other than destroying cities.

"We need battle mages," generals were saying. "Where are all the battle mages?"

Most of them were dead. Burned, hanged, or driven into hiding so deep they'd never resurface. The few who remained were traumatized, bitter, and not particularly inclined to help the people who'd spent the last few years trying to exterminate them.

Adom had wanted to fight. But he was too weak, too sick, too valuable. The handful of surviving mages were suddenly precious resources that couldn't be risked on the battlefield.

"You're needed for research," they'd told him. "Strategic planning. We can't afford to lose someone with your potential."

So he'd watched from the sidelines as the world burned itself down piece by piece.

By the time the Fourth War started ten years later, and enemy battle mages began carving through their armies like wheat, those same people went looking for magical protection again.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

There wasn't any left.

The world had spent decades systematically destroying its magical defenses, and when the time came to use those defenses, they were gone.

Adom was running now, through streets that burned with normal fire and others that burned with something else entirely. Behind him, armies clashed while children screamed and mages died and the world tore itself apart one kingdom at a time.

Five wars. Five wars in rapid succession, each one triggered by the aftermath of the last, each one worse than what came before. Dragon's Breath had been the first domino to fall, but the cascade had taken nearly fifty years to finally stop.

By then, half the world's population was dead, mages were scattered and hiding, and the survivors were too busy rebuilding to notice the strange reports coming from all over the world.

Reports about dungeons breaks.

And somewhere in all that chaos, Thessarian Valdris was still hunting.

Adom jerked awake, his heart hammering against his ribs like something trapped and desperate. The cabin was dark except for the faint glow of moonlight through the porthole, and for a moment he couldn't remember where he was. The smell of smoke lingered in his nose, and he could still hear—

"Bad dream again, huh?"

Sam's voice came from the other bed, quiet and concerned. In the dim light, Adom could make out his friend sitting up, apparently having been awakened by whatever thrashing around Adom had been doing.

"Yeah," Adom said, wiping sweat from his forehead. His mouth tasted like ash and old fear.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had nightmares about the past. Usually his dreams were about the future—about things that might still be prevented. The wars were over. Done. Ancient history that existed only in the memories of an old man who tried not to think about what he'd survived.

But Thessarian Valdris wasn't supposed to exist yet either.

"The usual?" Sam asked.

"Something like that."

Through the porthole, Adom could see stars reflecting off calm water. No smoke. No screams. Just the gentle creak of the ship and the distant sound of waves against the hull.

Sam sighed, a long sound in the darkness. "You know..."

"What?"

"After everything you told me about the future, I wondered how you still kept being... well, you."

Adom turned to look at his friend, though he could barely make out Sam's silhouette in the dim light. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're not really dark. Or brooding. Or constantly traumatized. You're just... Adom."

That pulled a laugh out of him, sharp and unexpected. "Me? Not traumatized?"

"Okay, maybe that part wasn't true," Sam said quickly. "But still. You know what I mean. You could have turned into one of those bitter old men who hate everyone and trust no one. But you didn't."

Sam shifted on his bed, the frame creaking slightly. "I'm glad you stayed the same despite everything you've been through."

Adom was quiet for a moment, considering that. How had he managed not to give in to hatred? It would have been easy enough. After watching mages burn for crimes they hadn't committed, after seeing Thessarian standing over Damus's body with that creepy satisfaction, after decades of watching the world tear itself apart...

His father had been a non-mage. Most of his friends back in Kati had been, too. Maybe that was part of it—he'd grown up seeing magic and non-magic people as just people, not as separate categories that needed to be at war with each other. The hatred had always seemed arbitrary to him, even when he was living through it.

Or maybe he was just too tired for hatred. Anger took energy, and he'd spent most of his previous life being sick.

Through the porthole, something shifted in the darkness. Not stars anymore, but a thin line of lighter sky on the horizon.

"Land," Adom said, sitting up straighter.

Sam groaned and rolled over. "Finally. Three days of this rocking motion and I still feel like my stomach is trying to escape through my throat."

Zuni was curled up on the writing desk, a small ball of blue-tinted quills rising and falling with steady breathing. The little quillick had adapted to ship life better than any of them, though he'd spent most of the voyage complaining about the quality of the food. Or, in his case, nuts.

Adom smiled, watching the horizon brighten.

Despite everything, he was given a second chance. To avoid the nightmare he saw. Not many people had that chance.

"A better future," he murmured.

"What?" Sam grunted, still sick.

"Nothing. I was just... just dreaming."

Things needed to be different now. They had to.

***

"Freedom!" Sam declared as soon as his feet hit solid dock planks. He immediately dropped to his knees and pressed his palms against the wooden boards. "Sweet, blessed, non-moving ground!"

Zuni, perched on Adom's shoulder, chittered what sounded like agreement. "While I found the maritime experience educational," he said, "I must confess a profound appreciation for surfaces that remain stationary relative to one's inner ear."

"He says he's glad to be off the boat too," Adom translated.

"Smart creature," Sam said, getting back to his feet and brushing dust off his knees. "Three days of that was enough seafaring for me."

Adom had to agree. There was something liberating about being able to walk in a straight line without compensating for the roll of waves. The cramped cabin, the constant creaking, the smell of salt and fish—all of it felt like a distant memory now that they were standing on solid ground.

Even the air felt different here.

Despite it being well past sunset, Olden was exactly what its reputation promised. The harbor was lit by warm, golden lanterns that cast dancing reflections across the water, and the temperature was still perfectly comfortable. Not hot enough to be uncomfortable, not cool enough to need a jacket. Just... perfect.

The night air carried the scent of tropical flowers instead of the usual dock smells of rotting fish and tar. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, their fronds rustling softly in the darkness. Even at this hour, the place felt alive and welcoming.

"Wow," Sam breathed, staring around at the lantern-lit surroundings. "This place is..."

"Pretty nice," Adom finished.

It was strange seeing Olden like this—vibrant and alive and absolutely stunning. In his previous life, his only visit here had been to survey the crater where the capital used to be. The eternal summer had died, leaving behind nothing but ash and twisted metal.

But now, watching people stroll along the waterfront even at this late hour, laughing and chatting like they didn't have a care in the world, he found himself smiling.

"Look," Sam said, pointing toward a cluster of brightly colored stands near the dock entrance. "Food! Real food that wasn't prepared in a ship's galley!"

The stands were still open despite the hour, clearly set up to serve travelers arriving on the evening ships. Vendors sold everything from fresh fruit to local delicacies, their stalls illuminated by hanging lanterns that gave everything a festive atmosphere.

But one stand in particular caught Adom's attention.

The sign above it read "Wangara" in cheerful yellow letters, with smaller text underneath advertising "Fine Foods and Refreshments for the Discerning Traveler."

Adom couldn't help but grin. Cass had been working hard to spread their merchant guild's influence to neighboring kingdoms, but he hadn't expected to see a Wangara stand this far from home.

"Let's get something to drink," he said, heading toward the familiar sign.

The stand was run by two young men who looked like they might be brothers—similar builds, similar facial features, both wearing the distinctive blue and yellow vests that marked them as Wangara employees. They were serving what appeared to be some kind of iced fruit drink to a group of late-arriving passengers when Adom approached.

"Good evening," Adom said politely.

Both men looked up and smiled pleasantly. One of them glanced at Adom's hair, did a small double-take, then nudged his companion and whispered something.

"Evening," the first one said cheerfully. "What can we get you?"

The second vendor was still staring at Adom's hair with obvious curiosity. "Hey, aren't you—I mean... you're Adom Sylla, right? From House Sylla?"

"Let me guess," Adom said with a rueful smile. "White streak?"

"Yeah, it's pretty distinctive," the first vendor said with a grin. "Cool to meet someone from the sponsor family. Your folks have been great for the guild."

Adom sighed internally. He really needed to do something about his hair.

Maybe it was time to dye the whole thing black and blend in like a normal person.

Hah. I'm thinking like an old man in an aging crisis.

"We'll take two of whatever that fruit drink is," he said, gesturing to the colorful beverages the vendors had been preparing. "And do you have anything without sugar? Something plain?"

"I would very much like to sample the exotic beverage," Zuni protested from his shoulder. "It appears quite fascinating."

"You know what sugar does to you," Adom said quietly.

"Surely a small amount would be perfectly manageable," Zuni argued. "I am a creature of considerable self-control."

"The last time you had sugar, you attacked Sam verbally."

"He did?"

"Yeah."

"That was... an aberration." Zuni finally said, as Sam eyed him.

"Plain water, please." Adom said to the vendor.

"Sure thing," the first man said, reaching for cups while completely ignoring the squeaking conversation happening on Adom's shoulder. "Two passion fruit blends and one water, coming right up."

The drinks were served in tall glasses with chunks of ice. Sam took a long sip of his fruit drink and immediately made a sound of pure contentment.

"This is amazing," he said. "Why don't we have drinks like this back home?"

"Climate," Adom said, taking his own sip. The vendor was right—it was incredibly refreshing. Sweet but not overwhelming, with a perfect balance of tropical flavors.

Zuni managed to get his tiny mouth around the rim of his water glass and took a delicate sip. "Most... adequate," he said with obvious disappointment. "Though I maintain that my constitution is quite robust enough to handle a small amount of fruit-based refreshment."

"Your constitution maybe. My eardrums, no."

When Adom reached for his money pouch to pay, the second vendor waved him off casually.

"Ah, don't worry about it," he said. "Family of the sponsor and all that."

"Cass would be furious if she heard I didn't pay for drinks at one of her stands," Adom said firmly, counting out coins. "She'd probably make you write a report about it."

The vendors exchanged glances, and the first one laughed. "Fair point. Guildmaster Drake does have strong opinions about proper business practices. We'd rather not explain that one in our weekly report."

"That she does," Adom agreed, handing over the coins. "Thank you for the drinks."

"No problem! Enjoy your stay in Olden," the second vendor said with a friendly wave.

"Thanks!" Adom waved back.

As they walked away from the stand, Sam looked back over his shoulder. "Getting popular, eh?"

"Wangara's getting bigger," Adom said simply.

"I think it's the hair. Everyone talks about the little dude with the white streak of hair that arrested the Sundarian prince," Sam said.

Zuni, who was still nursing his disappointment over the water, spoke up from Adom's shoulder. "While I appreciate the hydration, I feel compelled to note that this represents a significant missed opportunity for cultural enrichment."

"He's complaining about not getting the fruit drink," Adom translated.

Sam grinned, deciding to ignore Zuni. "I like it here. Even at night, it feels... safe."

Adom hoped that would remain true.

As they made their way through the port district toward their hotel, the warm night air carrying the sound of distant music and laughter, he couldn't shake the feeling that the peaceful atmosphere was fragile. Still, for now, it was enough to enjoy the perfect temperature and the sound of Sam chattering excitedly about everything he was seeing. Even Zuni seemed to be getting over his beverage disappointment, his usual dignified composure returning as he observed their new surroundings with interest.

The nightmare from the ship felt very far away. And despite the looming threat of Thessarian, despite the questions about why she was here eight years early, despite all the things that could go wrong...

Adom found himself genuinely looking forward to the next few days.

Even if he probably should dye his hair first.

His communication crystal pulsed against his chest.

Adom pulled it out, the smooth stone warm and glowing softly in the lantern light. He activated the connection.

"Ah, finally," came Mr. Biggins' familiar voice. "I was beginning to think the crystal network didn't extend that far south."

"Good evening, Mr. Biggins," Adom said, stepping slightly away from Sam and Zuni. "We just arrived. I have to say, I'm impressed there's connection here at all."

"Wangara's influence continues to expand, it seems. Quite efficiently managed. Well done, well done indeed!"

"Thank you. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, my boy, it's what I can do for you. Regarding that woman you told me about—Thessarian Valdris."

Adom's heart started beating faster. "What about her?"

"Well," Biggins said, and Adom could hear the satisfaction in his voice, "I caught her."

"You... what?"

"She's currently in my custody. Quite thoroughly secured, I might add. So you needn't worry about unexpected encounters during your tournament."

Adom felt a smile spread across his face, wider than any expression he'd worn in days. The tension he'd been carrying since the ship's dock melted away like ice in Olden's eternal summer.

"I... thank you," he said. "That's... that's a huge relief."

"Think nothing of it. Enjoy your tournament, and do try to actually play this time. I'm quite curious to see what you can do on the field."

The crystal went dark.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, noticing Adom's expression. "You look like someone just told you it was your birthday."

"Nothing," Adom said, tucking the crystal back into his shirt. "Just checking in."

As they continued walking toward their hotel, Adom couldn't stop smiling. It was remarkable how useful it was to have a dragon as a friend. So many headaches could simply be... avoided.

This was going to be a very good month after all.

...Right?