Chapter 29: The Manic Mage

Fiona squeezed her eyes shut against the sheer brightness of the golden light that had swallowed the entire area. The radiance pressed against her closed lids as though the sun itself had descended to wrap the burning forest in its embrace. For a long moment, she couldn’t perceive anything. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes.

The forest still burned in scattered patches, their orange tongues blazing furiously. Her gaze drifted almost without thought toward the massive silhouette sprawled across the scorched earth, the Grand Wyvern, or rather, its corpse. The creature lay motionless, steam still rising from the rents in its broken scales.

A great spear of pure golden light, as though torn from the heart of the sun itself, had been driven clean through the wyvern’s chest and out through the base of its neck. The weapon pinned the enormous corpse to the ground, its shaft still humming with a faint, lingering radiance. Fiona stared at the sight, the tension that had coiled in her chest for so long beginning to loosen. A shaky breath of relief escaped her lips.

“Hold steady.” The voice was feminine, calm, and it came from just beside her.

Fiona turned her head. Kneeling at her side was a woman she recognized well enough, a figure who appeared to be in her mid-forties, her green hair bound tightly in a ponytail that trailed down her back. Her eyes were yellow, the color of sunlight caught in amber, and her face held the stoic composure of someone whose emotions were not easily read.

Fiona tried to sit straighter against the splintered trunk, but the moment her muscles tensed, pain flooded through her body like a tide of fire. She winced, a sharp breath hissing through clenched teeth.

“You’re badly hurt, so you can’t move easily,” Zen said, her tone carrying no judgment, only fact.

“I know that, Miss Zen.” Fiona’s reply came out as an almost-chuckle, but it died in her throat as fresh blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

A sigh slipped from Zen’s lips as she observed Fiona’s expression. “Both of you are just the same,” she murmured, and her gaze flicked briefly toward Sebastian, who stood a short distance behind them, watching Fiona with a worried look he was clearly trying and failing to mask. “Would she be alright, Zenith?” he asked.

“Yes, she will, Your Highness.”

Zen raised her right hand and pointed her palm toward Fiona’s battered frame. “[Advanced Heal],” she intoned, her voice steady.

At that word, Images began to draw itself in the air, taking the shape of the formula [Advanced Heal].

The structure enclosed the entire arrangement in a perfect, luminous circle, binding everything into one seamless unity. Then, like an illusion, the completed formula was dyed a deep, vivid green that pulsed with a gentle, breathing luminescence, like a living heart beating in slow rhythm.

Zen guided the formula to hover directly above Fiona’s slouched form. The emerald glow deepened, its radiance swelling until faint motes of light began to drift free, descending like weightless seeds. They alighted softly upon Fiona’s battered frame, dissolving on contact and seeping into her torn flesh and broken bones with a whisper of warmth that spread beneath her skin.

A groan slipped from Fiona’s lips. She felt the fractured pieces of her ribs shifting, the jagged edges aligning and knitting together. The shattered feeling that had made every breath a laborious ordeal moments ago began to ease, replaced by a lightness that expanded through her chest. The gash on her forehead sealed itself, the torn skin drawing closed without a trace. The deep slash across her left shoulder followed, the flesh knitting thread by thread as the vivid green motes continued their tender work, mending what had been broken.

After several long minutes, the formula dissolved into a last shimmer of light and vanished. Silence settled over the forest once more, broken only by the steady burning of leaves.

A deep breath Fiona hadn’t realized she was holding escaped her. Slowly, she sat up, testing her body with careful movements. She raised her hands, opening and closing her palms, watching her fingers curl and straighten without tremor or pain. A smile crept across her face as she glanced at Zen. “Thanks.”

Zen gave a brief nod and rose to her feet. She walked to the tree beside Fiona, wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the blade still embedded in the wood, and pulled it free with a single smooth motion. “Here,” she said, casually tossing the weapon toward Fiona, who caught it on pure reflex, her hand snapping up to snatch the hilt mid-air.

A fleeting smile crossed Zen’s face at the sight, there and gone in an instant.

Fiona stood, bracing herself against the tree as she found her footing. Her gaze lifted toward the sky, where the golden dome that had protected her was slowly receding into nothingness, its edges fraying into motes of light that scattered. The heavens churned above, dark clouds roiling as strong winds swept through the forest, carrying the scent of ozone and wet earth. Faint streaks of lightning laced the darkening sky, illuminating the underbellies of the clouds in brief, silver flashes.

“It seems it’s about to rain,” Fiona muttered to herself. Her gaze dropped and found Sebastian, who was smiling warmly at her.

“I must confess,” he said, “you look very splendid this evening.”

Fiona was on the verge of rolling her eyes. She had known him long enough to recognize the preamble to one of his jokes. But before she could respond, a deafening crack of thunder boomed across the entire surroundings, shaking the air and rattling the scorched branches around them. Drops of rain began falling, fast and heavy, and it was clear the storm was only beginning to gather its strength.

Fiona’s face hardened immediately. They were running out of time. “Has the manic mage been found?” she asked, turning toward Sebastian.

He was still staring at the sky, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he lowered his gaze to meet hers, and his face became serious. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “We lost all traces of his exact whereabouts the moment we began our search earlier in the day.”

Fiona frowned, her mind working through the implications. “How is that possible? He didn’t go near Sigsug. It’s basically impossible for him to leave Tsayad when everywhere is surrounded by the team.”

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“That’s where the problem lies.” Zen’s voice came from beside her.

Fiona glanced at Zen, her frown deepening into confusion.

Sebastian cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “Our team had to retreat to Yerakot because of the wyvern’s strange behavior. I tasked them with protecting and evacuating the people in the village to a safe distance until everything here is settled.”

Fiona’s eyes widened. “What? Why did you do that? Sebastian, you know that isn’t the right move at a time like this. The fastest way to protect them wasn’t to evacuate, it was to catch that mage with all our forces. He’s the cause of everything that’s happening.”

Sebastian shook his head slowly. “That’s where you’re mistaken, Fiona.”

A frown creased her brow. “Care to explain?”

“Do you know what rank the manic mage is?” Sebastian asked.

Fiona thought for a moment, her mind searching, then shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Sebastian’s face. “He’s a late-stage Master Mage.”

“Late-stage,” Fiona repeated, her gaze locking with his. “He’s almost an Archmage.”

Sebastian nodded. “Yes, he is.” He paused before adding, “But that isn’t what makes everything dangerous and strange.”

“I don’t understand where you’re heading,” she replied.

Sebastian raised a finger and pointed toward the Grand Wyvern’s corpse, its massive form growing cold in the rain. “Do you think it’s possible for a late-stage Master Mage to control more than fifty of these Grand Wyverns?”