Preview

The Archmage sits alone in his kitchen, pale blue eyes focused entirely on the grimoire before him. No matter how he weaved and twisted the words and glyphs, it felt like he could never finish this spell without the proper components. And those would be simply impossible to gather! How on Khas' sacred lands could one find crystals of such magnitude so far North? A knocking at his front door briefly distracts him from the empty parchment. He eyes the kitchen's doorway and holds still for a couple of seconds, hoping that whoever it was would go away soon enough. A minute passes, and with no further knocking to be heard, he lets out a soft sigh and returns his quill to the paper. Perhaps this short distraction could awaken answers within? No, not really. He twirls the crow feather for a moment with his bandage-covered fingers, and as soon as he was about to set it back down, a heavy knock on the window behind him startled him so that the quill went flying. He got up in a flash, twisting in place to face the window and accidentally knocking over his chair in the movement, only for his gaze to be met by a pair of violet eyes on the other side of the glass. "Spore!" He called out, letting go of the breath he held in an exasperated sigh, "I thought you had already left by now! What are you doing here?" His questions were responded with nothing but silence, the eyes still staring deeply into his. Indignant, the man also stays where he is for a few moments longer, hand over the chest as though that would help in slowing down his breathing. Eventually, he does give in and drops his gaze. "You may come in. Here, I'll get the door open for you..." The foyer was dimly lit, the small blue orbs of light he had conjured just a few weeks ago were already losing their strength. "I ought to make better cantrips for those at some point," He'd mumble as he spun the key and unlocked the front door, pulling it open and letting in the night's cold breeze. Accompanied by the sound of cicadas came the sound of chitin scraping stone. Spore stepped out of the darkness, clad in a simple black dress adorned with silver. Her chitinous white skin glistened softly under the pale blue light that came through the doorway, and her violet eyes were still fixated on the chloromancer as he took in her sight. The two stayed silent for a second before he finally stepped aside to let her in. "I just wanted to ask you something." Her soft voice cracked as she spoke, something that was not at all common for her. He picked up on that, straightening his posture and tilting his head lightly. "What's the matter?" He questioned. "Why didn't you come back?" The question took him by utter surprise. A frown overtook his face, his eyebrows curving downwards and then upwards as his eyes lost themselves in the dark over and beyond her head. "I could not. Not after all that had happened." The words that left his mouth felt hollow and meaningless when he looked back down and saw the tears that ran down her expressionless face. "Father," His shoulders dropped as she said that word, the view of her grief-stricken eyes too much for him to bear, "You promised me you would return before even the morning's sun. You promised her that you wouldn't be long." By then, she had lowered her head, allowing her deep purple hair to cover her face. "And she believed in you. Every day, she would sit on that throne with that flower in hands and wait for you to waltz your way in like you always did..." The two stood in silence, each passing second felt like an eternity. Finally, when he gathered the courage to look up at his daughter and reach out for her, she was no longer there. Where she had stood laid a silver rose with carved ruby petals, the same he had given his lover many years ago. A perfect receptacle for the spell he's been attempting to weave.