Ethereal Void (ONC 2023)

Chapter Two

There was a time, aeons ago, when the High Mages were protectors of the realm. When the Light and the Void were two sides of the same coin. There was a time when mankind had bigger things to worry about than killing each other.

My people were once a proud race of mages. Yet this arrogance was exactly why we were so grossly underprepared for the resilience of the Light. It was why our grand cities had been reduced to crumbling ashes.

I could not say what caused the strife, recorded history has always been skewed. But I did know, with every fibre of my being, that noblemen—politicians, whether from the Light or the Void, had never cared for the dying villagers. They didn't care that every second I had spent away from the council, I was in the small towns and villages. They would rather draft me like they drafted all the children.

So when I marched down the long silver halls, adorned with dark candelabras and plush black rugs, I knew exactly what I was expecting. I knew that once I got to the extravagant throne room, once I got to the immoderate silver chair adorned with opals and obsidians I would find Merikh on it. Her long, black dress glimmered with just as many unnecessary gemstones as it trailed the floor.

"Merikh," I greeted with a short, hasty curtsy, before I continued my march towards her throne, "I have a request."

The woman pursed her lips as her eyes travelled down my much shorter black robes. Unlike Merikh, my robes dangled just above the ankles, and instead of being adorned with gems, they were covered in dust, soot and potentially, blood. Her sights finally settled on my bare feet for a moment too long, her expression switching to one of disgust.

Merikh would have me call her the High Lord of the Void or something just as absurd, arrive in ridiculous garments and praise her for a few minutes first. But I had little time for formalities.

People were dying.

"Please tell me that a foul creature ate your boots," she finally said, still eyeing my feet as she scrunched her nose in disdain.

"My ... boots?" I looked down at my feet, caked in dirt and dried leaves, and then let out a huff, "My Lord, children are dying!" I marched on, smearing her black rug with brown footprints, "I fail to see how my attire bears more importance!"

Merikh continued scrunching her nose for a minute longer before she faced me, her sharp features imbued with exhaustion. "We are in an age of war," she said holding her head high, her long, black hair shimmering like silk, "death is not uncommon during war."

I had to stop for a moment. Compose myself with a deep breath lest I exploded at the High Lord of the Void. I was a mage after all, which meant my anger was always quite literally explosive. And that wasn't even the worst part of my abilities.

For generations, my family had given birth to mages that could control the elements without magic crystals. They could scorch the plains with nothing but sheer will. Freeze the land solid on a hot summer day. They were as revered as they were feared. My ancestry was the reason the Void would have me take arms.

But not me. I had been born with an entirely different ability. Unlike my forefathers, my anger didn't take down towers, they wrought an entirely different havoc.

The death of magic.

If I took arms like Merikh constantly insisted, I could end this war in a day. And the Void would be the new masters. The new tyrants. Children of the Light would be dying instead. War was such a complicated monster. It was best that I stayed away from it.

My place was with my people.

"Soldiers die," I finally agreed, my jaw clenched. And despite the lack of explosions, I could feel the sting in my eye, I could see the air around me shimmering like water. "Children are not soldiers." I shut my eyes to take another deep breath, calm myself before I spoke again, "You know perfectly well where I stand on children taking arms. Where I will always stand." I may have been half her age, but my ancestry was not the only reason I was the Twentieth Witch of the Void.