(2) Rustling

Morwynn sliced down, the wind from her strike setting the grass rustling. She raised her blade again, and a whoosh heralded another strike. The sky above was dark, with only a faint shine over the buildings to the west lighting her training. Twilight was her favorite time to practice, though she was probably the only one at her level training like this.

Her father had stressed mastery above all else. Levels granted power, true, but mastery was what determined victory. All one needed was to be in the same general level range. Even a ten-level difference could be overcome with sufficient mastery.

“Wynne, come inside soon! Dinner is almost ready!” her mother called from the open window.

Morwynn’s levels were high enough that she had smelled the lamb as soon as her mother began roasting it, so she was already preparing to wrap up. She timed her training by the fading light of the sun, matching her tempo so that it would end just as the last rays vanished. That was the best time to see the Pillar.

A shaft of light far off to the west speared into the sky, so high and bright that it could be seen from any point within the kingdom—any point in all of Vadenlaud. It had been there her whole life, and even longer besides. Everyone knew of it, but few knew what it was—what it meant.

Some thought it was a great monster off in the ocean, attempting to devour the sun’s light. Others suggested it was due to volcanic activity, though most would agree that it looked nothing like any eruption ever described.

Morwynn’s father, however, had told her the truth. This light must originate in Ashreach, the mysterious, dangerous continent across the west sea.

This continent was only vaguely known through oral legends until The Awakening, when a great beast stirred some two hundred years ago, threatening to bring fire and ruin to the entirety of Vadenlaud. The Hero had led the expedition to Ashreach herself to vanquish the beast, and Morwynn’s father speculated that the light was some byproduct of their fight.

Considering the light had been in the sky for nearly two hundred years, which just happened to coincide with the exact year the Hero departed, it made sense. Morwynn was always skeptical, though. Other than the timing, there was scarcely any other information to confirm his theory. Still, she liked to gaze at the light, imagining a time when the Hero might return.

Practicing under the light motivated her and kept her disciplined. If the Hero did return, she had to be ready. Her father played a prominent role in her adventures in Vadenlaud, and she would live up to that legacy no matter what.

“Strange, it should be right over there…” said a voice from the other side of the fence.

“Yeah, I don’t see it. It’s weird. It’s been there my whole life, but now that it’s gone, I wonder if I’m even looking at the right spot, you know?” asked a second.

Morwynn’s ears perked. She did not typically eavesdrop, but when voices drifted over her fence, she could not be blamed for listening, surely.

“Well, it was definitely in the west, and I don’t see it anywhere, even if I don’t remember its exact location,” the first voice responded.

“Maybe it’s an especially bright night? Could be hidden by clouds or…” the second voice reasoned, trailing off as its owner left the vicinity.

Something missing in the West? she thought.

Glancing up at the horizon, Morwynn’s entire body clenched, as if she had been struck by lightning. She knew immediately what was different. She had spent the majority of her life staring at the Pillar.

And now, it was gone.

Staring, mouth agape, Morwynn was frozen in shock longer than she cared to admit. Eventually, her rational faculties returned, and she began swinging her sword in earnest. Now was the time to push, not to take it easy.

“Mom, I’m going to be late for dinner!” she called.

The author’s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

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Redra walked as quickly as she could, her long skirt hiked up to avoid tripping. Her etiquette instructors would be aghast, but judging by the frantic scurry all the palace workers were in, that would not be an issue.

She had been in magic practice with her instructor, Esmerelda, one of the kingdom’s few Archmages, when Esmerelda was quickly rushed out by what was undoubtedly urgent business. The fact that Esmerelda had been summoned mid-practice, yet Redra had not, was something she noted but ignored.