THE MAGE ENCOUNTER
1242 Words
Vyrenth does not welcome strangers.
It swallows them.
Seraphine feels it the moment she steps deeper into the lower districts.
The streets narrow. Lights flicker. Wires hang loose between buildings like veins exposed to open air. Steam hisses from broken pipes. Somewhere, metal crashes. No one reacts.
People move fast. Eyes down. Hands close to their bodies.
No one looks at her.
But everyone notices.
She keeps walking.
One step. Then another.
Her cloak clings to her skin. Sweat gathers at the base of her neck despite the cold. The pendant rests against her chest now, hidden beneath fabric.
Still warm.
Still… wrong.
She presses her hand over it.
It pulses.
Not like a heartbeat.
Like something knocking from the inside.
Seraphine inhales sharply.
Not here.
Not now.
“Careful.”
The voice comes from nowhere.
She turns.
A man leans against the frame of a half-broken doorway. Tools hang behind him. Metal scraps litter the floor. Sparks flicker from a device he holds, casting brief flashes across his face.
He looks ordinary.
That is the first lie.
“You keep touching it like that,” he continues, not looking at her directly, “you’re going to wake it up.”
Seraphine stills.
Her hand drops from the pendant slowly.
“What are you talking about?”
The man finally looks at her.
And the world tilts.
His eyes—
They don’t reflect light.
They absorb it.
“You don’t even know,” he says quietly.
Not a question.
A statement.
Seraphine takes a step back.
Instinct.
“Stay where you are,” he adds.
She almost laughs.
Almost.
“I don’t take orders from strangers.”
A flicker of something passes across his face.
Approval.
“Good,” he says. “You’ll survive longer that way.”
A sharp pain rips through her chest.
Seraphine gasps.
Her knees buckle
She catches herself against the wall, fingers scraping against rusted metal.
The pendant burns.
Not warm.
Burns.
“What” her voice breaks. “What is happening?”
The man moves now. Fast.
Too fast.
He grabs her wrist before she can pull away.
“Stop fighting it.”
“I’m not”
“Yes, you are.”
The world shifts.
The sounds of the city stretch. Warp. Fade.
Her vision blurs
Then sharpens
Then
White.
Blinding. Endless white.
Seraphine stands
No.
Not stands.
Floats.
There is no ground.
No sky.
Just
White.
Cold.
Ancient.
Her breath fogs in the air.
She turns
And something moves in the distance.
Massive.
Silent.
Watching.
Her heart slams against her ribs.
“No,” she whispers.
But it comes closer.
Not walking.
Not flying.
Gliding through nothing like it owns everything.
A shape forms.
Wings.
Endless. Spanning across the white like torn clouds.
Eyes
Not human.
Not anything she understands.
The White Dragon.
It lowers its head.
The air cracks.
Power presses against her skin, her bones, her mind
Seraphine drops to her knees.
She cannot breathe.
Cannot think.
Cannot
Speak.
A voice fills the space.
Not heard.
Felt.
You ran.
Her hands slam against the invisible ground.
Her body shakes.
“I—”
No sound leaves her mouth.
The dragon leans closer.
Its breath is ice and fire at once.
You were not meant to run.
Something inside her snaps.
Not fear.
Not submission.
Something sharper.
“I was not meant to be owned,” she forces out.
The words tear through her.
But they land.
The white stills.
The dragon pauses.
For a moment—
Everything holds.
Then
It exhales.
And the world shatters.
⸻
Seraphine screams.
The city slams back into place.
Noise crashes over her. Heat. Smoke. Movement.
She collapses forward
But hands catch her before she hits the ground.
“Breathe.”
The man’s voice cuts through the chaos.
“Breathe, or it will take more than you can give.”
Seraphine drags in air.
Sharp. Painful.
Her chest aches like something clawed its way out of it.
“What… was that…” she gasps.
The man watches her carefully.
Not afraid.
Not surprised.
Certain.
“That,” he says, “is why they’re hunting you.”
Seraphine’s fingers twitch.
The memory lingers—
The eyes.
The voice.
You ran.
Her stomach twists.
“I didn’t imagine it.”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
The man releases her slowly.
Steps back.
Gives her space.
“A bond,” he says. “An ancient one. Rare. Violent. Unforgiving.”
Seraphine pushes herself upright.
Her legs shake—but she stands.
“And you know this… how?”
A faint smile touches his lips.
“I’ve spent my life studying things that should not exist.”
He tilts his head slightly.
“And you, princess, are at the top of that list.”
Seraphine freezes.
Her voice drops.
“Lower your voice.”
“No one here cares who you are,” he says. “They care what you can do.”
A beat.
“You just showed them something worth noticing.”
Her pulse spikes.
She scans the street.
Nothing looks different.
Everything looks different.
“You felt it, didn’t you?” he continues. “That moment before it broke?”
Seraphine swallows.
“Yes.”
“That was control slipping.”
Silence stretches.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
“If I don’t control it?” she asks.
The man’s gaze hardens.
“Then it will control you.”
A distant horn blares.
Sharp. Military.
Seraphine’s head snaps toward the sound.
The man sighs.
“Too late.”
“What?”
“They’re here.”
⸻
THE NORTHERN RULER
The palace does not sleep anymore.
It trembles.
Guards line the corridors. Torches burn brighter. Voices rise.
King Aldric stands at the center of it all.
Fury contained.
“Find her,” he says.
No one moves fast enough.
Across the room—
The northern envoy stands still.
Watching.
Listening.
Then—
He smiles.
Slow.
Dangerous.
“They won’t,” he says.
The king turns sharply.
“What?”
“They won’t find her.”
The envoy steps forward.
Calm. Certain.
“Because she is no longer running from you.”
A pause.
“She is running toward something else.”
The room stills.
A shift in the air.
Something darker enters the space.
The doors behind them open.
No announcement.
No warning.
He walks in.
The Northern Ruler.
Silence follows him like a shadow.
He does not rush.
Does not speak immediately.
He simply stops.
And looks around.
His presence presses against the room—heavy, suffocating.
Unquestionable.
“Where,” he says finally,
“is my bride?”
No one answers.
Not even the king.
The ruler’s gaze shifts.
Finds the envoy.
No words pass between them.
None are needed.
Then
A faint, almost imperceptible change.
Like something clicking into place.
Understanding.
Interest.
Hunger.
“She’s awakened,” he says.
Not a guess.
A fact.
The temperature in the room seems to drop.
The king frowns.
“You speak in riddles”
“I do not.”
The ruler turns.
Begins to walk away.
“Prepare the riders.”
The command lands like a blade.
The envoy nods once.
“It will be done.”
The ruler pauses at the doorway.
Just for a second.
“Do not bring me a runaway princess,” he adds.
His voice lowers.
Darkens.
“Bring me the girl who controls the White Dragon.”
Then he leaves.
And the hunt changes.
- Writer
