Chapter 69
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Chapter 69: Title
"Are we still afraid of them?" boomed a towering figure with crimson skin and cropped scarlet hair, his two-meter frame casting long shadows.
"Elder Joseph foretold an impending crisis that would drape the world in darkness," came the measured response. "Conflict with humans now would be unwise – cooperation is our only path."
Martha shot a fierce glare at the massive man. "They’ll supply us with students capable of wielding magic and awakening their dormant bloodlines. Have you forgotten, Norman, how the giant race’s lineage supposedly trades wisdom for brute strength?"
Her final words slipped out as barely audible venom: "Sacrificing IQ for power…"
Though Martha’s mutter was soft, it carried clearly to the magical assembly where Norman’s Fire Giant heritage flushed his neck crimson. "I’ll tolerate that remark only because you’re of the elven race," he growled through clenched teeth.
The white-robed council leader interjected with authority honed over centuries: "Joseph’s visions have never erred. Let their delegation visit – under strict supervision. Our academy holds too many arcane dangers for untrained hands."
At the lake’s edge after supper, Martha’s silver hair caught moonlight as she walked with Carlyle. "When will you retrieve them?"
"At dawn," the human wizard replied, his breath visible in the chill air. "We’ve spent this moon cycle reviving the castle’s magic circles and deciphering the demon web’s patterns." His gesture encompassed the ancient spires around them, their reactivated wards humming faintly. "Merely restoring partial functions drained our small order – we’re but shadows of the archmages who raised these stones."
Martha’s boot scuffed the pebbled shore. "I’ll accompany you. Merlinka’s silence during our last meeting worries me."
Carlyle’s cloak rippled in the night wind. "The ghost noble’s disappearance still haunts her. Six centuries since Satan claimed Lady Waylin, yet no witch in the Council of Truth masters the dark arts to pierce hell’s veil."
"Nor should they," Martha snapped, her elven features hardening. "Necromancy’s taint has no place among natural fairies." She suddenly sank onto a weathered bench, moonlight tracing the weariness in her movements. "These mortal bureaucrats – you don’t think they’ll demand portal access?"
Carlyle’s silence answered more plainly than words. Beyond their moonlit cove stretched the hidden realm’s wonders – crystalline glaciers merging with emerald forests where magical races dwelled. At its heart lay the slumbering metropolis, its wizard towers standing sentinel over secrets even the current Council dared not disturb.
Not that no one had attempted to dispel the magic enveloping the city, but it became evident that the arcane shroud posed far greater peril than any spell within or beyond the academy walls.
—The magic city bided its time for a pivotal moment, though even Joseph the prophet couldn’t divine the exact nature of this awaited opportunity.
A village nestled near the magic city hosted gatherings every ten days, attracting both local residents of diverse races and wandering Magical Races from distant regions for trade.
The following dawn.
With the inspection team’s roster long settled, the final task involved choosing suitable members to witness the wonders of the magical realm.
As the appointed leader, Myers observed Carlyle raising his hand in silent concentration. Ripples of energy undulated through the air beneath his closed eyelids.
An ornate, heavy wooden door materialized at last, its surface carved with cryptic sigils and murals marking the threshold to the magical realm.
“Merlinka, join us,” Martha urged, giving the girl’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “You should see where you’ll study. I know Waylin occupies your thoughts, but this brooding helps neither of you.”
“If misfortune befell Waylin, guilt serves nothing. Should she be safe, your worry is misplaced.” Elves typically maintained an aloof demeanor toward outsiders, making Merlinka’s profound concern for the human girl perplexing to Martha.
“Is this how all initiates enter?”
“Hardly. We adapted a fairy tale concept – a special bus transports students to the magic world.”
“Then why aren’t we using it?” Jerd interjected, curiosity lighting his features.
Though ordinary buses held no fascination, this magical counterpart kindled the group’s adventurous spirit – humanity’s eternal hunger for the unknown.
“Dwarven craftsmen are perfecting the vehicle,” Carlyle explained while pushing the creaking door ajar. “With fortune’s favor, we might ride it upon our return.”
“This passage demands magical aptitude. Shall we proceed?”
Beyond the portal stood a raven-haired wizard whose obsidian eyes gleamed as he bowed. “Welcome honored guests. I shall be your guide through this journey.”
“Wasn’t Carlyle supposed to accompany us?”
“Regrettably, pressing matters claim my attention today,” Carlyle replied with an apologetic nod toward the newcomer. “But Filin’s expertise surpasses my own regarding the castle environs. He’ll address all inquiries.”
Martha seized Merlinka’s arm, noting her detachment. “Homecoming awaits. The new saplings approach their awakening – the elven race should greet its future.”
Myers stepped forward protectively. “Must Merlinka depart?”
“Your mandate involves academy inspection, not my charge’s education,” Martha countered, silver hair swirling as she drew Merlinka closer. “Filin suffices as your guide.”
Without protest, Merlinka allowed herself to be led away, leaving Myers gaping at the vacant space she’d occupied.
“Shall we commence?” Filin prompted, consulting Carlyle’s notes. The documents mentioned Myers extensively but remained silent on other members – even Carlyle seemed unfamiliar with this peculiar assembly.
*
Vatican City.
Twin youths stood resplendent in immaculate white robes, their golden tresses cascading like liquid sunlight to slender waists, azure eyes mirroring Mediterranean skies.
These were the miraculous twins whose birth had shaken the world. Within a month, they’d matured into the visages of eighteen-year-olds – celestial paradoxes made flesh.
Mirror images in face and temperament… or nearly so. Subtle distinctions shimmered beneath their surface harmony, visible only to each other.
Archangel Michael himself had christened them – Hill for the elder, Loral for the younger.
Only one could be the true Son. The divine contradiction haunted Vatican corridors, though none dared question openly. As Michael had decreed: “Time’s river will carry truth to light.”
“Brother, our hour approaches,” Loral murmured, his smile radiating gentle warmth.
Hill’s fingers lingered on his twin’s collar, adjusting the solitary golden angel wing pendant. The jewelry’s twin had fractured mysteriously when Gabriel delivered it – a silver cross once bearing paired golden wings now sundered.
Though perplexed by the divine sign, the brothers obeyed Gabriel’s decree, wearing their respective halves on silver chains. Their status rivaled archangels, yet walking the human realm demanded earthly humility. Few celestial beings knew of the Messiah’s dual incarnation.
The twins’ existence transformed Vatican rhythms. Alternate days found them preaching in different chapels, guiding supplicants through scripture and sorrow. Sundays saw them united before multitudes in St. Peter’s Square.
Meanwhile, two figures navigated Vatican’s ancient streets. One possessed hip-length ebony locks framing an androgynously beautiful face. “Lance,” he whispered, “this is Holy See territory. Discovery would prove… inconvenient.”
His companion’s navy-blue hair caught the light like raven feathers, eyes absorbing illumination hungrily. Lance’s sculpted features remained impassive. “Undetected we walk, unless your tongue wags us into peril.”
