Tales of the sorcerer

Elena stood at the ship's railing, the wind pulling at her cloak as the coastline of Halcythra faded into the mist. She clenched her fists, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Leaving Adrian behind had been the hardest choice she'd ever made, but she couldn't afford to be weak. He had risked everything for her, and she had sworn that his sacrifice wouldn't be in vain.

The sea stretched endlessly before her, a vast and restless expanse mirroring her own turmoil. The journey to Ithrenis would take weeks, and every passing moment felt like another step away from the chaos she'd left behind. Excidium was gone, shattered into fragments that had disappeared into the void, but the threat it posed still loomed over them all. The immortals weren't finished with her yet.

She turned away from the railing, pulling her hood lower as she made her way across the deck. The ship, The Seraph's Wing, was one of the fastest in the fleet, built for both speed and endurance. Its captain, a gruff old sailor named Rorik, had taken her aboard without question—so long as she could pay. The gold she'd stolen from Aleron's vaults had been enough to secure passage, but she knew it wouldn't last forever.

The crew bustled around her, tightening ropes, adjusting sails, and preparing for the long voyage ahead. They paid her little attention, though she caught a few wary glances. It wasn't surprising. Magic users were rare among sailors, and Elena had already revealed more of her power than she should have when a careless deckhand nearly lost his footing. She had stopped his fall with a flick of her wrist, sending him gently back onto the deck instead of overboard. The murmurs had started then, whispers of "witch" and "stormbringer" drifting through the ship like a curse.

She ignored them. She had more pressing concerns.

That night, the first storm came.

The sky darkened faster than it should have, thick clouds rolling in from the horizon like a living thing. The air turned electric, charged with something unnatural. Elena felt it before anyone else—an eerie pull in her chest, as if the storm itself was alive.

When the first wave struck, the ship shuddered violently, nearly knocking her off her feet. The crew scrambled, tying down cargo, pulling at the sails, shouting orders over the howling wind. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the terror in their faces.

"Elena!" Rorik's voice cut through the chaos. "If you're going to do something, do it now!"

She hesitated. She had been trying to keep a low profile, but if she did nothing, they would all be lost. Bracing herself, she reached deep into her core, feeling the pulse of magic waiting beneath the surface.

She raised her hands, and the storm answered.

The wind bent to her will, shifting just enough to stop the ship from capsizing. The waves calmed, though they still raged, and the rain turned from a furious downpour to a steady, manageable torrent. It took every ounce of strength she had to maintain control, but she refused to let go.

Then, in the heart of the storm, she saw it—a vision.

Adrian.

He stood in darkness, his expression twisted in pain. Shadows coiled around him, clinging to his skin like chains. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Then, suddenly, his head snapped up, his golden eyes locking onto hers.

"Elena."

She gasped, the vision shattering as the storm eased.

"Elena!" Rorik's hand was on her shoulder, shaking her back to reality. "Are you alright?"

She blinked, nodding quickly. "It's over," she murmured. But in her heart, she knew the real storm had only just begun.

---

When The Seraph's Wing finally docked in Ithrenis, Elena felt like she had stepped into another world. The city rose from the mountains like a fortress, its towering spires glowing with embedded runes. The streets pulsed with magic, ancient energy woven into every stone.

She had heard of Ithrenis before—whispers of a place where knowledge and power were one and the same. It was home to the Arcane Athenaeum, one of the most prestigious academies of sorcery in existence. It was also her only chance to grow strong enough to face what was coming.

A hooded figure awaited her at the docks.

"Elena Ravenshade?" The voice was female, sharp and direct.

Elena hesitated, then nodded.

The woman lowered her hood, revealing silver-streaked hair and piercing violet eyes. "I am Aryn. Master Veyra sent me to escort you."

Elena followed without question.

---

Master Veyra was nothing like she expected.

The sorceress sat on a throne-like chair in a circular chamber lined with towering bookshelves. She was older, her face lined with years of experience, but her presence was commanding. Power radiated from her in waves, unseen but undeniable.

"You came seeking knowledge," Veyra said, her voice smooth but edged with steel. "But knowledge alone will not save you. You must be willing to unlearn everything you think you know."

Elena bristled but remained silent.

Veyra stood and crossed the room. "We will start with Soulbinding."

Elena stiffened. She had read about it before—a magic that connected one's essence to another's, allowing unparalleled power at a cost.

Veyra studied her. "You hesitate."

"I don't fear new magic," Elena said, her voice firm. "But Soulbinding is dangerous."

"Everything worth mastering is." Veyra lifted a single hand, and in an instant, Elena felt something cold wrap around her heart. A pull—gentle but firm.

"Your soul resists," Veyra mused. "Good. That means you still have something to lose."

Elena's breath caught as the pressure increased, but just before it became unbearable, Veyra released her.

"You will learn discipline," the sorceress said. "And if you fail, you will never master the power you seek."

Elena clenched her fists. "I won't fail."

Veyra smiled, but it wasn't kind. "We shall see."

---

That night, as Elena lay in her quarters, exhaustion pressing in, she replayed the day's events over and over. The storm. The vision. Adrian's voice calling her name.

A cold breeze drifted through the room.

She stiffened.

The runes along the walls flickered, dimming for just a moment.

And then, in the darkness, a whisper:

"You cannot outrun your blood."

Elena's pulse pounded. She turned sharply—but the room was empty.

Only the silence remained.

And the knowledge that her past was far from done with her.