Orick Vatris sat with hands clasped in his lap as he watched his master give her lecture for the thousandth time. Endless and repetitive information. Don’t use certain spells in public, don’t offend the knights, and certainly avoid any blood magic. His master, Fiona Shadowwalker, stressed a lot of what not to do over what to do. But, despite what not to do, Orick often wondered what was offered beyond the city gates. He’s young yet. His parents told him that he’d find the truth of his nature after the trials. Some mages claim no matter your age, you don’t hit adulthood until you complete them, others say it’s just another test, but the reality is life or death.

 “Master Shadowwalker,” Orick started, “why must we discuss what I cannot do still while the trials linger only a few days away for me?” 

Fiona, a middle-aged mage with long, wavy silver hair and a rounded form, eyed him curiously. Her eyes silver and green with a diamond-like resemblance. Her magic, embraced her vision long ago, causing a slight deformation; instead of damaging her appearance, it only helped. Many men wished to win her over, spending their days longing into her eyes, she told Orick long ago that the eyes are more a curse than a blessing, but useful while attempting to siphon any sort of information. 

 Orick shifted slightly as her mouth opened. Closed. And opened again like her words escaped her, it wasn’t often he was so forward with her. “Whelp,” she started with a dismissive pat against her legs, “we prepare you for what’s against the rules, so you know what will be thrown at you. And how to fight the fire with a suppressant instead of fire.” 

 “Because fire with fire doesn’t solve the problem, it only delays the battle.” Orick recited instinctively. 

“Indeed, at least you’ve learned something if not patience.” Fiona retorted. 

“Eh,” Orick started with a shrug, “if that’s what we’re calling it, but I need information that will be more useful.” 

Fiona laughed, not of entertainment, but annoyance, “I—” She corrected, “—no, we’ve shown you many ways, paths, and lessons. But, you’ll have to find a way to use what we’ve taught for the trails. The point of my redundancy is to engrain the lessons of forbidden magic, you’ll be more resistant to trying it when temptation arises.” 

“Why would you add it in the test if it’s forbidden?” 

“Because we will not allow our subjects to experience what you’ll face without the chance of choice. After all, if you remove the freedom of choice, Icebrooke will be no better than its old oppressor, Rimewick. Though we do have our moments, not many, yet they exist all the same.” She shrugged, “I mean, depending on how you rank, you’ll find out as you progress through the conclave.” 

 “Oh, okay, another one of those situations.”  

“Yes, Orick, another one of those situations. Though being eager can be useful, it can disrupt the ability to sustain patience, if you recall, our craft requires some delicacy. Not all spells or magic can be thrown at whim.” Fiona explained, “yet, perhaps you’ll end up in a situation where you may need the components all the time. You do have the natural traits many do not exhibit, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get the chance to bypass all the other stops.” 

Orick sighed, “I know.” He snapped his fingers, sparking some blue magic from his fingertips, he quickly shook his hand out. “Sorry, instinct.” 

“You use a slide of hand in your card games, is it?” 

Orick groaned, how did she know that was used for that; he used it as a bluff often. “Okay, so you caught me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll cheat my way through the trials!” 

“Indeed, are you ready to move past our roundabout and into something more productive as you previously desired? Or, would you like to spend your time playing spit blade with our words?” 

Orick submitted, “yeah yeah, out with it! What shall we discuss now?” 

“Discuss?” Fiona grinned, “more like you listen, I teach. Now, remember the rules of teleportation?” 

“Through portals, yeah?” 

“Portals is one way to call it, but it comes with a price.” Fiona explained, “do you remember what happened when Master Palar attempted to create his portal before he prepared a sacrifice?” 

“Wasn’t that the great collapse of Longfellow Tower in northern Icebrooke?” 

Fiona nodded, “well, at least you were paying attention at one point in your life. But yes, that is it! He didn’t supply the sacrifice, so as he drifted into the temporary multi-dimensional rift, he exposed the world to the crosswinds of the unknown.” 

Fiona waved her hand above her head a cloud of magic appeared, the purple and green hues bounced freely off the gray bricks behind her. The jars of various components all reflected the clouds forming, each showing different orbs reflections. “Each orb is a different realm, the realms are separated by color and sigil; the short distance, anything we would do while staying on our own plane will have no color. Instead, our portal, the creation of mist and light, will show images of where we wish to go.” 

“And the sacrifice is concerning the length and our weight? Doesn’t have to be living nor dead, but something of worth, correct? Otherwise, the gods will assume disloyalty, thus exposing the world to the crosswinds?” 

 “Correct.”

Orick remembered the night like it was yesterday. It is part of why mages are distrusted but not thoroughly hated, one small mistake causes cataclysmic level issues. Maybe not cataclysmic, but the tower that once stood as one of the towers in the kingdom came tumbling into itself moments after the portal opened. Once the portal closed, a windstorm full of scarlet lightning raced through that section of the kingdom, and as the storm concluded, the electricity spiraled up the tower like a snake entrapping its prey. Then squeezed. 

The pressure was too much for the brick and marble, and the tower quickly came down. Pieces of debris scattered throughout that section of town. Sending bricks, marble, and the gods knew what else through the surrounding homes and stores. Luckily, a lot of the wooden structures were prepared for strange events. Many didn’t get much for damage, but that wasn’t the point. They built them for this very reason. So close to Longfellow Tower. At the time, many assumed it was a training tower for mages, but it was designed as a research center for the city, yet no one would come. Empty. It was such a waste, but it was beautiful.   

“So, what items are required for sacrifice?” 

Fiona shrugged, “anything that fits in your hand or hands if you have a larger group, it may be something more substantial. Most of the time, some will use a gem or some of their coin embedded into a stone or piece of marble to create the central vortex than raise it to the appreciate height before exiting into the portal.”

“What if you created Imra’s Circle?” Orick inquired. 

Fiona cocked her head at an angle, “you know, I never thought of that. Explain further.” She requested. 

Orick rose to his feet, his teal apprentice rope dragging in tow, his hood still drabbed upon his back, but his hair all askew from his lack of sleep the night prior. He won’t admit his faults or fears, but the anxiety for the tests that wait on the horizon plague his dreams. The haunting only began a week prior. No-one ever said anything, even the girl he like, Estrella, didn’t point it out. She merely brushed her fingers through his hair quickly as they parted ways between lessons. 

In fact, it was she who gave him the idea. She often studied the Elves magic, since it’s slightly different than how a human, dwarf, orc, or anything else would use it. They have a delicacy that is unrivaled even to this day. But, Estrella mentioned that Imra’s Circle has nine symbols, each correlating to a different god, nine different runes, and a thick line connecting all of them in a circle. You drag a path down to another inner circle, which is where the user would be sitting, ideally. Then, you connect those lines. In the blank spaces from the user circle to the edge of it, you would place different ingredients. 

 Each ingredient is relatively easy to obtain. Barley, wheat, Lemon, berries, part of the mage’s hair, and a gem. After the components are placed, the circle is locked, the outer portion will glow with deep yellow, which gives the mage roughly twenty-five seconds to enter the center. Once the mage sits, the color will change to green, signaling the mage to whisper the remainder of the spell. Once that is complete, the mage can rise with her hands to her sides palm up. 

 Once the mage hits full height, the circle will glow gold with a magical shield dropping around the circle, shortly after the portal opens, and is suffocated once the mage goes through. The spell will hold for another five minutes, allowing the storm to fizzle out before ever really starting as the portal collapses on itself.

Orick explained the details to Fiona, and she looked impressed for the first time. “Where did you learn this information.” 

“I learned it fro—”

She raised a finger, “don’t you dare finish that with Estrella.” 

“—m Estrella…” He trailed off. He looked immediately averted his head to the side to avoid Fiona’s judgment. 

"You know that girl is going to get you in trouble, right? She’s nothing but trouble.” Fiona stated. 

 Orick, with his gaze, still adverted simply succumbed to the pressure of needing to be serious, “well, if it works, right?”              “The truth behind it is now in question, but we’d have to try in a controlled environment.” 

“We?”

“Yes, my pupil. My apprentice. My burden?” She raised a brow, “or is experimental magic with your teacher too much for you to handle at the moment, you know the trials coming up and all.” 

“Well—”

“Nothing. We’re going. Your trials start in two days, we only needed to discuss portals, and this is relevant to your studies.” Fiona mentioned, “plus, this may prove worthy for the Shado—” She stopped, “—for the other Masters of the conclave.” 

“The shadowwalkers?” Orick whispered, “you’re one, aren’t you? That’s why your Master Shadowwalker?”  

Fiona grinned, “it’s only a poor choice of a surname is all. The Shadowwalkers are not of this era.” 

 “I don’t—” 

 “We’re going to Prism’s Reef to test your girlfriend’s idea. If it works, prepare for her wrath or risk the wrath of the order above me if you tell them. Either way, you’re in a tough spot, kid, and you haven’t even entered day one of the trials.”          

            Irma’s Circle seemed like an easier task than bringing a sacrifice, but it turns out, not as simple as it sounded. Master Fiona laid out the essentials, while Orick made the circle with various salts and wax. The wax Orick used is from Porgos, a land from much further South. Some called it the land of a thousand seas, too many lakes, too much water surrounding its shores, and not enough land. Beyond a small strip that connected it to the mainland, there wasn’t much else to keep it from being called Porgos Isle. The Porgosians tend to believe the Northerners were merely jealous of the beauty they were blessed with daily, thus the reason for their continuous insults toward them. 

 Orick knew the better of Porgos, since the last time he arrived at the city gates, he was only a child decorated in street clothes with unkempt hair and poor hygiene. His parents moved him from Lillac Isle, a small island to the west of Summercoast. Orick thought the name was ironic since the country is often cold and snow-filled once you’re three cities in. To this day, he can’t imagine why his folks had the desire and urge to move so far North.  

Regardless of the reason, that was years in the past, and he needed to focus. 

 “Oh Orick, I’ve placed the nine items, are you going to finish connecting the last dot or are you going to keep staring off into the distance like the neighboring kingdoms stole something from you?” Master Fiona jabbed. 

“They did.” 

“And what’s that, Orick?” 

Orick grinned, “the nice weather, I’m freakin’ freezing over here.” Orick waved his hand over the wax and salt, the whole circle for Irma’s circle began to glow, “and I finished, by the by.” 

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Master Fiona teased. 

"Yup, which is exactly why we go on these little excursions to see what stupid ideas actually work.” Orick pointed out. 

Fiona stepped into the middle of the circle, her yellow robe flowing behind her as she took each step. The long leather boats she wore whenever they went on excursions now covered with some bits of mud and grass. The morning frosts were getting worse as the days carried on, and with the start of every winter, it just utterly destroyed the grass and plants. 

Her hand wrapped around a smooth black stone as the central connection point for the portal, she slowly motioned for Orick to step inside as she slowly rose the stone. He was surprised to see her act so delicate yet confident while she raised something she still questioned. 

After taking a few steps, Orick started to long for spring whenever he had to do rituals in the elements on these cold mornings. Despite his reluctance, he trusted Estrella, and apparently, his master seemed to believe that Irma’s circle was safe enough to attempt transport. Orick stepped inside only a fraction of an inch away from Master Fiona. 

Fiona tapped Orick an elbow, “snag the stone with a hand before the light rises.” 

Orick did as requested, his finger hardly wrapped around the edges of the smooth black stone before the blinding teal light consumed them. For a second, the world was only a swirl of color, mostly teal, before they arrived in a new location. 

As the colors faded, Orick and Fiona were welcomed with a small crowd amid Blackspire Circle. Orick couldn’t recall the last time he was in Blackspire, let alone the circle that occupies the middle of the small city. Luckily, it wasn’t a far walk back to Icebooke; some say it was just a skip of rock down the road. 

“I’d call this a success.” Orick started with a grin, “or did we just blow something up back home?” 

 Orick watched Fiona’s eyes glare out over the horizon studying the lands in the not so distant kingdom. “considering there is no smoke rising beyond the usual fires of the smiths have ignited.” 

“Well, it’s a good start. But, I can’t say we’re in the clear yet…could be you know,” Orick shrugged nonchalantly, “delayed ramifications or worse.” 

“Boiling water killing of the populace?” Fiona quipped. 

Before the two could continue, a man with tattered clothes, matted hair, and a slight gimp approached. His face soured with disgust or pain, “you lot thinks you can just pop into to our little nook without warning? Or a consequence? Do ya?!” 

The man shouted at them like some drunken buffoon stumbling out of a tavern, but there was no tavern nearby. The circle only included some artisans, shops for farmers, and an abundance of small houses. The area in direct contact with their landing had a singed circle, “consequence? We’ve hardly left a mark on the ground!” Orick snapped. 

The stranger found no joy in Orick’s reply. His arms waved out, letting his loose-fitting tunic flap freely from his arms. “Can you not see you just burned my small number of crops, fools!” 

 Orick went to speak up, yet Fiona stepped forward before him, “I can see how we may have caused you some—” She hesitated, “—disruption to your growing season, yet the morning frosts have impacted your crops far worse than anything we’ve done, I assure you. If you feel the need to blame us for your poor turn during the harvest season. At least wait until a season that harvesting actually occurs.” 

 “The point isn’t the harvest season, you wench!” 

Orick grunted; he’s never heard anyone speak in such a tone to Fiona. He wanted to smile because he knew what was coming but frowned, knowing how the political aspect would take hold, and the response would be muted. Dull even. 

            “Oh, please!” Fiona started, “we singed the outer reaches of a project you’ve hardly started; you’ve had poor turnouts for the last few years, have you not? You’re on the outs, and you waited for a moment where you can transplant the blame from you to someone else. And now, why not blame it on the mages who are universally hated anyway? Am I right?”  

   The man grumbled, trying to work up a reply, but the crowd moved in, others better dressed and more prepared for the day. Orick grew uneasy yet held his ground despite his surprise to how Fiona responded. Snarkier than he expected. 

The crowd closed in a little more, so Orick brought his hands up, preparing a defense, whispering bits of magical defenses as they worked their way up. He didn’t get as far as he desired when Fiona pushed them back down. 

“Orick, keep your hands down and prepare to walk back to Icebrooke. Also, keep your damn head down.” Fiona spoke softly. 

He nodded and prepared to leave but hardly made it two steps before five city guards came clanking up to him, “mage halt! What is all this commotion about?” 

“Well, we were…experimenting if you can call it that.” Orick began. “It was a lengthy experiment, starting at the wee hours of the morning and moved into…well, mid-day. We are attempting to find safer ways to travel without sacrifice or ramifications of epic proportions.” 

Behind him, Orick could hear Fiona and the farmer still exchanging words. She had to know the guards were questioning him now because she turned ever so slightly.       

 “Do you not recall the time Longfellow tower fell?” 

 “Yup.”

 “That was from your kind doing experiments too, and you see how that turned out; luckily for you, you only singed that poor farmer's crops.” 

“What? There are no crops to be burned in the area we landed. We didn’t even mean to land there. The guy is clearly just poor and trying to use us to scapegoat his way to a thick purse, again.” 

    “Those are some mighty accusations.” The guard stated. 

  A voice from behind the collection of guards, “no fabrications are being created here; the mage speaks truly, or have you forgotten how to read between the lines? Can you no longer tell the difference between a lie and a truth?” 

The guards hesitated, “no…sir.” 

“Indeed, it would be a shame if you let your prejudices be the deciding factor of the judgment. I feel like there is a word I’m searching for…something to describe someone who lives like that to work in my esteemed services?” The man, who has yet to appear fully to Orick. 

 “Oh, honorless! Is that what you are? Just an honorless chap trying to earn a fast penny for doing unjust work. Are the kind that will gulp up the funds and run off to your mistress and mistreat her in the late hours of the night, then return to your betrothed and act as the perfect partner?”  The voice continued, an aged voice. 

 To Orick, the man sounded he had to be in his mid to late sixties. But a man of authority. As the soldiers moved to their side, the silver of the armor reflecting the sun's great light toward one another instead of him. The man who stepped forth between the soldiers was roughly the same height as Orick, he is a tad wider. His rounded yet reddened face was complimented by his hefty black beard. 

His armor slightly dented. His chest plate had a sigil of an orc skull split by an ax head. Clipped to the collar of the armor is his long navy cape, the cape almost long enough to touch the ground. Orick knew him then. Not by an acquaintance in person, but of stories. 

Orick bowed, “sorry to cause such a ruckus in your town square, Ser Jeremiah.” 

Jeremiah The Bold, as most referred to him, a knight of the decades; the same man who took up arms against Ser Lawrence The Warhammer and won. Lawrence was a knight known for his brutal assaults on Kingdoms for years as a favor to Rimewick. When the kingdoms grew tired of suffering from such behavior, they took up arms with Ser Jeremiah, who at the time, was known as Ser Jeremiah Cast. A man who was betrayed by his own brothers near the end of the civil dispute between Rimewick and Icebrooke. It was the last skirmish the two kingdoms had before what Orick knew today. 

 Jeremiah waved his gauntleted hand, “please, don’t bore me with false manners, mage. I know you don’t mean it. Fully, at least.” 

Orick glared at him with confusion, “no, sir. I meant it. What you did for the Kingdoms at the peak of your fighting days is unmatched, it’s an honor to meet you in person.” 

Jeremiah only glared at him. To Orick, it appeared he was at a loss for words, but Fiona was not. Her hand extended out, she began to take the conversation over, relieving Orick of his awkward introduction. “You should be honored, Orick here, never does anything like that. Not even for his own master.” She admitted. 

“And you are?” He asked, curiously. 

“Master Fiona Shadowwalker.” She said dryly. 

 “Are you?” 

 She glanced, confused, “am I what?” 

“One of them?” He asked, sincerely. 

She laughed, gave Orick a quick glance, one that told him not to speak up again, “oh them. No. It was just a poor choice for a surname in the early years of my ancestors. Before they started.” 

“Interesting.” Jeremiah said flatly, “they’ve been known to change their surnames to just that after being initiated, it was a sign to tell kingdoms, towns, or cities about their intention. About their ability and conquest.” He shrugged, “always an interesting play to name yourself after the order you swear to keep to secrecy.” 

“Perhaps it isn’t the order that is meant to be a secret, but the task at hand that is,” Fiona stated. 

“Hmm.” The knight started, “you could be right, regardless, that is not the reason for my visit.” 

“Is it because this farmer assumed we were out to get him?” 

“Partially, but no.” 

Fiona and Orick both asked, confused, “come again?” 

 “I’m not here on behalf of the city. Nor the farmer, who, for the record, is in the wrong here. I’m here to seek you out, Ms. Shadowwalker.” 

“Me? Why?” 

Jeremiah waved them on, “I think it may be in our best interest to discuss the details beyond the sight of the public, they never care to have their safety questioned…especially with magic users.” 

The group walked silently for a few minutes winding their way through the older town. The buildings all showing their age, most still made more from wood and less from brick, marble, and other elements they discovered over the generations. Icebrooke develops at a much faster rate than any other city or kingdom. Most found disappointment beyond their gates, but Orick, he appreciated the old-time design to the town. 

 They came to a halt not too far from the edge of the city, leading, ironically back to Icebrooke. Jeremiah sighed, tucking his hand into his belt, his heavy exhale exaggerated by the steam that accompanied his breath. 

“I don’t know why I stay so far north; this weather is bullshit.” 

“Right?” Orick chimed in but was immediately smacked by Master Fiona. 

“Shut it, Orick.” Fiona nodded toward Jeremiah, “and what is the purpose of this gathering beyond the fact that we all universally hate the weather but never leave despite it.” 

“I’ve received some disturbing reports from the northwest.” 

 Fiona sighed, her head instantly collapsing into her hand, “they’re fucking mobilizing, aren’t they?” 

“By they, you mean Rimewick?”

“Yes.” She said flatly. 

“Sort of? It’s a pocketed group of bandits and rebels who are rebelling against Rimewick and us, they’ve been known to have some extremely successful attacks on Kingdoms with or without prior knowledge.” 

“Are you referring to the Order of The Silver Saber?”

 “Yes.”

“Shit, those bastards are rallying to here?” 

Jeremiah shrugged, “the truth of it. And they plan to interfere with some big event. Considering we don’t have one here, and Icebrookes holidays haven’t began…I’d assumed the mages were up to something.” 

“The day of the trials,” Fiona whispered.     

“And that is?” Jeremiah inquired.

Fiona eyed him suspiciously, “are you unaware of our trials?” 

“I know of a ritual, not of what they are called. Forgive me, my lady, but I have no interest in the dealings of magic. It’s something I prefer to avoid.” 

Orick laughed, “traditional response.” 

“Indeed, and I imagine you’re being tested?” 

Orick shrugged, “yes.” 

“Then take your leave, because their attack will apparently start as you begin. Get your rest and prepare yourselves for an attack.” 

“So, they’re coming?” Fiona inquired. 

“According to my spies, they’re already here, Master Fiona…Shadowwalker.”