Page 5 of The Dark Mage

A fter midwinter break, Peria and Ren’wyn finally attended advanced magics together.

Ren’wyn exulted in the crisp winter air, her breath misting as she crossed the central lawn with Peria.

Sitting down next to her friend, she relaxed, eager for class with the graduating members of their year.

Rumor had it that Master Li, the academy’s oracle, would spend two weeks tutoring them on foresight.

No oracles had attended Spyre in over twenty years, and their power was even more poorly understood than dark magic.

The prospect sent a thrill through Ren ’wyn.

A young man with shoulder-length black hair sat down next to Peria.

He smiled broadly, his warm brown eyes taking in her slender form and the curly explosion of her black hair.

His clear approval made Ren’wyn suppress an eye-roll—Peria had another impending conquest. Then, he turned his gaze on her. His eyes widened, and his smile grew.

Ren’wyn blushed under his stare, her stomach fluttering and dipping at the unexpected atten tion.

He reached out to Peria. “I’m Esrin,” he said.

“Peria,” she replied, her tone effortlessly cool, though her eyes flicked between him and Ren’wyn. “This is Ren ’wyn.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Ren’wyn said, shaking his hand. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her fin gers.

Esrin regarded them both. “Roommates?” he asked, his hand lingering on hers.

They shared a look and a genuine l augh.

“Yes,” Ren’wyn replied. “Like sis ters.”

Peria’s eyes flashed with joy at Ren’wyn’s description, but she quickly turned back to Esrin, bumping his hand from Ren’wyn’s in the process. Ren’wyn tried not to sigh at the loss.

“You’re from Ishvaen,” Peria said, pointing at him with a knowing smile. “Accent and clothes give it away.”

“And you’re from Anduan,” he countered smoothly. “Only Anduanian women are as forward as they are lo vely.”

Peria blushed at the compliment, though her grin remained s harp.

“And you,” Esrin said, leaning slightly to gaze at Ren’wyn again. “From the north…the northern fo rest?”

“The Territory of Lords,” Ren’wyn replied. “My father is Lord Vair, his estate next to the Dark Forest in the southern Territories. He supplies grain and livestock to the Cap ital.”

Esrin’s eyebrows rose. “How did you end up here?”

The look of surprise was nothing new. Territorian lords were infamous for their imperial allegiance and superstition. Ren’wyn knew her attendance at Spyre raised questions. Back home, her worth was measured solely by her ability to marry well.

She chose honesty. “My mother has magic, and so do I. Our family has hidden it for centuries. My grandfather attended Spyre, and he was an excellent practitioner. My mother sent me here to follow in his foots teps.”

Esrin’s expression shifted as realization dawned. Ren’wyn could almost see him piecing together the only inherited magic she could w ield.

“You’re a dark mage,” he mutt ered.

Ren’wyn clenched her jaw at Esrin’s words, the too-familiar weight of being seen pressing against her ribs.

She had spent years at Spyre learning how to wield her magic, and yet every time someone realized what she was, their first response was hesitation—fear.

Dark mage. The words carried the stigma of a hundred horror stories, of myths twisted into warnings told to frighten children.

Even at Spyre, where students of all six magics trained together, her kind were the ones watched most caref ully.

She let out a slow breath, forcing her shoulders to r elax.

Magic, in its rawest form, was woven into the fabric of the world, manifesting differently through those born with its power. Masters trained students across all six disciplines of magic, encouraging understanding between different power. But understanding did not mean accept ance.

Druids, like Esrin, were easy to admire. Their power was tangible, visible in the way they stirred the air or wove moisture into the wind. Esrin’s aura, bright and green like springtime, was proof of his affinity, and he moved with the grace and surety of the elements woven into his sp irit.

Berserkers were breathtaking in their own way. Bodies forged into weapons that could endure impossible pain, they burned with an intensity that terrified and fascinated, controlling both strength and fire at will. Their wild power could just as easily consume the wielder as their ene mies.

Ren’wyn couldn’t help but love empathic magic.

Empaths manipulated emotions, guiding the feelings of those around them with an unseen touch.

Peria’s magic was subtle and pervasive, a tide pulling at the heart, shifting it without notice.

She could ease pain, fuel hope, or crush the will of an opponent with an invisible thread of willp ower.

Wights lurked in shadows, like living ghosts. They bent light, sound, and sometimes even physical substance, slipping unseen through the world. Spies, assassins, and informants—at least they had been at one time. Their power made them unpredictable, forgettable, and de adly.

Oracles were the rarest of all, the ones who glimpsed the threads of fate. Some read the past with perfect clarity, while others saw moments yet to come. Most oracles went mad long before adulthood, consumed by knowledge no human mind was meant to hold.

And then there were dark m ages.

Her kind.

Magic rooted in death. They were the only ones whose power was spoken of in past tense—extinguished, eradicated, slaughtered.

People feared dark mages not just because they wielded the Void, but because they had once been many.

Because their power had shaped history in ways still whispered about in fear.

She saw it now, the moment Esrin realized what she was. The way his aura had recoiled, the careful way he measured his words. It was the same way her fellow students flinched from the shadows when they whispered to her. The same way even the Masters seemed unsure with how to treat her.

She had been through this before. She would go through it a gain.

Peria’s delighted and wicked laugh shattered the tension, easing Ren’wyn’s discomfort. “She’ll eat you and your family for breakfast, and your souls will fuel her connection to the Void.”

Ren’wyn couldn’t help giggling, though Esrin’s gaze remained wary.

She knew she was so unassuming that she confused people.

His aura pressed against hers, bright and green like a spring day, and her darkness welled up to meet it.

The Void stirred within her, recognizing Esrin’s subtle probe.

Her pupils darkened, and frost prickled at her toes.

“Gods,” he whispered, drawing back slightly. “I thought you were all slaughtered in the last upri sing.”

“We almost all were,” Ren’wyn replied, her heart heavy with shared memory. “My family survived—a secret kept with blood and d eath.”

“I only know the legends and myths,” Esrin admitted. “I’ve never met a dark mage be fore.”

With a cool smile, she tilted her head. “I’ve met too many druids,” she said, voice even.

Esrin laughed, easy and rich, but she saw the calculation behind it. The shift in his posture, the way he measured her. She was no longer just a woman he had met in class. She was a dark mage.

She felt it settle, the unspoken question that always followed: What will you do with that p ower?

And, as always, she swallowed the t ruth.

I don’t know yet.

Esrin studied her, then let out a slow, considering breath. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, something warmer than wariness settling in his eyes. “Well played, Ren ’wyn.”

After a pause, his smile widened. “Would you two join me for supper this eve ning?”

Peria’s glance conveyed the silent agreement born of three years of shared friend ship.

“We’d love to,” she replied with a grin.

Ren’wyn and Peria brought a bottle of wine and met Esrin at the men’s dormitory.

Ren’wyn couldn’t help but wonder who they were dining with as she regarded him.

His clothes were expensive and well-made—a teal tunic the color of the sea and tight brown leggings—and he leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe, exuding effortless confid ence.

“Ladies,” Esrin greeted them with a smile. “Follo w me.”

Her question was answered when they entered Esrin’s personal suite.

The black leather, dark wood, and cherry red detailing screamed opulence.

A table set for three sat next to a small but well-stocked kitchen.

Beyond an open door, a king-sized bed draped in a fluffy red-and-white comforter completed the overwhelming display of we alth.

“My father is governor of Ishvaen,” Esrin said, shrugging off their obvious surprise. “I’m rather well off.”

Ishvaen. The city of li ghts.

Ren’wyn ached at the thought of it. Prosperous and clean, Ishvaen valued equality, education, and craftsmanship.

Governed by Esrin’s father with the help of representatives from the major cities, it stood as a beacon of progress.

Esrin would inherit the title someday. Ren’wyn nearly sighed with jealousy as Peria whistled in apprecia tion.

“I usually eat in the dining hall,” Esrin added, grinning, “but for two lovely women, I had to call in my personal chef.”

Peria looped her arm through Ren’wyn’s and teased, “Three bottles of wine? Whatever could you have envisioned for this night, alone with us in your personal apart ment?”

Good gracious, Peria was shameless. She would gladly sleep with Esrin, savoring the luxury of his suite, then dissect the experience afterward—rating Esrin’s performance and the quality of the bed with characteristic flair. Peria’s unapologetic love of life was a welcome distraction for Ren ’wyn.

“In my experience,” Esrin replied with a wink, “wine is a lovely way to enjoy the company of friends. Though if it wins me a companion, I won’t comp lain.”

His gaze caught Ren’wyn’s, and her stomach tumbled as she met the fire in his eyes.