A sharp sneeze escaped Yuna as the dusty tomes fell from her hands onto the table in front of her. When she had first departed for the Winding Circle Temple, she hadn't expected so much of her time to be spent in a library of all places.
When Yunalesca Caine had left home nearly a year ago, she couldn't have quite envisioned the life waiting for her at the Temple. Like a select number of other gifted students, not all her time was devoted to a mundane education; she was here to study magic from the masters. Of course, when she had first left home—or, more accurately, been shipped off—she hadn't seen this path opening for her as a gift at all.
Yuna had been born into a noble family, but noble by name only. Her family was old enough and unlucky enough that the funds passed onto each new generation diminished until Yuna's own father died, leaving a widow, six children, and an income that might have supported them if they were careful. Even at age nine, though, Yuna was aware that her mother wasn't careful. Alina had been beautiful once, but grief had taken its toll on the woman. More and more of the family's sparse income began to find its way to the local tavern and the food on the family's table became scarce. By the time Yuna was thirteen, Alina had been so dependent on the drink that Yuna was forced as the oldest to care for her younger brothers, learning to hunt and doing menial work for any neighbors that were feeling charitable.
When Yuna was named as mageborn, she worried for her family's future. Alina was less than helpful as a caretaker or provider, but Yuna was ultimately forced to recognize that her twin brothers at thirteen were old enough and quick enough to care for the others. With that knowledge, she was traded between caravans and ships all the way to Emelan.
Yuna was studying smithmagic. It could be demanding work; it was oftentimes physically demanding, and so mentally tedious at others that her master assigned extra reading from the library to keep her sanity. After years without seeing anyone else sharing his gift, Frostpine would be damned if he allowed boredom to ruin Yuna's talent. And she was talented, flying through Frostpine's curriculum and impressing the rare dedicate that cared enough to peer in on her progress.
With a defeated sigh, Yuna closed the book on the different recorded types of magic. There were others with gifts at the Winding Circle—she lived with two other mages-in-training at Discipline Cottage that were learning to manipulate plants or textiles just as she was learning the forge—but there were talents that she hadn't seen yet, and she was curious. Reason dictated that there could be even more gifts unexplored, unrecognized for the magic that they were, but curiosity had to give way to exhaustion and Yuna set the books back on their shelves, wished the keeper well, and left in search of her bed.
When she got back to the cottage, Niva and Lark had already retired to their bedrooms. There was a soft light visible under Lark's door as Yuna passed, and she chuckled under her breath. Lark was a new arrival, having come to Winding Circle from some circus or entertainment troupe. She hadn't yet gotten used to the timetable kept by the dedicates here and had a stubborn habit of staying up far too late and sleeping in through breakfast.
Yuna sighed to herself as she changed into her nightclothes and fell into bed. Her breathing steadied as she began to meditate, centering herself and reflecting on what she'd learned that day—a practice Frostpine recommended when she had started reading additional material. Her heartbeat slowed, a steady rhythm echoing dully in her ears like the sounding of a hammer as she slowly fell from meditation and drifted towards sleep.
Just before her vision clouded over completely, losing herself to sleep, a frightening flash of green overtook her sight. When the green—sharp and unforgiving—finally faded, it faded to black.
Worlds away, three beautiful horses galloped through a darkened forest. Each horse bore a single rider.
The first was an elf with pointed ears and slanting eyebrows, accenting his angled features. A bow was slung across his back, and a sword was sheathed at his side opposite a quiver of arrows fletched with swan feathers.
The third was just as fair, with a face as angled as the first. He cared a long spear in his right hand as his left held the bridle. A white dagger was sheathed at his belt. An amber and gold helm of the highest quality rested on his head.
The second, protected on either side by her companions, was an elven woman with shockingly black hair with bangs that threatened to fall into her eyes before flowing down her back. Her dark eyes shone with a patient determination as she stared into the forest ahead. She, like the man in front of her, carried both a sword and a bow with swan-fletched arrows. Her clothes were plain but did not take away from the beauty she possessed naturally. In her lap was a small bundle that she looked at frequently, reassuring her that it was not lost.
One of the elves, the man in front, murmured something about 'urgals' to the woman, who gave her approval to his plan. The two guards switched places and the man with the spear shifted his grip to hold it better.
Suddenly, there was chaos. The horses began to rear up on their back legs in alarm, tossing their manes about. Their riders tensed in anticipation. Without a word being shared, all three turned away, speeding towards the direction in which they had come. The woman's horse pushed itself forward, leaving the other two riders and horses behind.
From the trees came the creatures which had frightened the horses. They were humanoid, but distorted; as if someone who only had a vague description of a man tried to replicate the idea in clay. They were of an average height, if not slightly taller than most men. Their legs were bowed, their arms thick and muscular. They each possessed a pair of twisted horns which grew from above their small ears. Each bore a roughly circular shield made of iron and short swords of matching silver.
A man accompanying the creatures- urgals- stepped towards the escaping elven woman. He looked almost ordinary, with his normal proportions. He was on the taller side, but not unreasonably so. What really raised alarms was his crimson hair and blood red eyes. A long pale blade was sheathed at his waist, which shifted slightly as he raised his right hand, revealing a long thin scratch down the flat of the blade.
"Garjzla!" he shouted out. A red bolt of light flashed from his palm towards the woman, lighting the trees scarlet. The bolt of light connected with the white horse and the steed supplied a high-pitched squeal as it toppled straight into the ground chest-first. The woman hardly batted an eyelash as she leapt gracefully from the poor animal's back with inhuman speed, landing lightly on her feet a yard away. She took a moment to glance around for her guards and cried in shock and distress at what she saw.
The elf could only stare as her two guards, companions, and friends were brought down by the urgals' weapons. They were dead before they hit the ground, their steeds dying with them. Blood pooled at the urgals' feet and they were quick to celebrate, buying the woman precious time to run on foot.
"After her! She is the one I want!" the man with red eyes shouted angrily at his minions. They stared at each other for a moment before joining in on a vicious war-cry and ripping their way through the forest, searching for the woman.
Ignoring the urgals as they created a small path of destruction through the trees, the man with red eyes ascended onto a granite boulder, smoothed by time and the elements. He raised his hand, the sword once again shifting ever so slightly with the movement.
"Istalrí boetk!" he uttered. A quarter mile of forest bloomed into flames, quickly spreading through the pine forest. The man repeated the process until there was a ring of fire half of a league across encircling the ambush site, leaving less space for the urgals to search, wanting this task to be finished quickly and efficiently.
He was satisfied when he heard a panicked cry. He followed the sound with his eyes, only to see three of his twelve urgals fall by the woman's sword, now dripping black urgal blood, before she bounded away like a deer. On the bright side, she fled towards him, ending up twenty feet below him on the forest floor. Judging the distance, the man jumped down, landing nimbly beside her as the urgals surrounded both hunter and prey.
"Give it to me," the man said, delighting in her desperate helplessness. Her eyes widened ever so slightly with panic, she reached into the pouch that she had somehow managed to hold on to. The bag fell to the ground, leaving a smooth sapphire stone in her hands. Fiery light danced across the surface of the stone as she lifted it over her head, murmuring frantic words so low that the man could not hope to hear.
Now growing desperate himself, the man barked, "Garjzla!" as he raised his hand once more. Another red bolt flew from his palm, aimed directly at the elf and speeding through the air as quickly as an arrow. Half a second before the red light collided with the elven woman, there was a quick burst of green light that vanished as quickly as it had appeared, taking the blue stone with it.
The red light hit her, and she fell to the forest floor.
Regardless, the man howled in rage. In a fit of anger, he drew his sword, launching it at a tree as one would a javelin. The sword sunk halfway into the tree, quivering from the force used to propel it away from the man.
He confirmed that the blue stone was gone before fetching his dark horse from its spot in the trees. He tied the beautiful woman to his saddle, unaffected by her entrancing features, and mounted his horse, drawing his sword from the tree.
He quenched the fires in his path only, leaving the rest of the forest to burn to the ground.