Lena had been back in Sarah's room less than an hour when the king's messenger arrived, informing her that she and the other Warriors of Light were being sent away. Sarah had told her this would happen; what neither of them anticipated, though, was the timing.

The mage councils' scrying had been conclusive: the Warriors needed to leave on the first day of the full moon. That gave her one day. Only one day to prepare, one day to say goodbye. Less than that, as that same messenger had also informed her that her attendance was required at a ball the next evening.

She'd hardly slept, her mind tumbling through everything she might need - an uncertainty, since no one had yet decided where they were going - and she'd leapt out of bed as soon as the first rays of morning light had come through the window. The princess had protested sleepily, but had accepted Lena's explanation, suggesting she stop by the kitchens for breakfast before she set out.

She did so now. The cook, Dole, had been up for hours already, and the kitchen was warm and bright. It smelled strongly of bread. Dole was busy directing one of his apprentices in the preparation of some sort of meat. She found a spot out of the way and waited until he finished before speaking to him.

"Master Dole," she began, but the boisterous man plowed right over what she'd been about to say.

"Ah, my lady soul reader! How was your picnic yesterday? Did you try the cheese?"

"Um, yes, it was lovely."

"My wife's nephew makes that cheese! Little farm east of the city. Very proud of that boy, we are!" He was, indeed; she could feel it. He was proud of the kitchen, proud of his workers, proud of the porridge... Pride was the predominant emotion in this room.

"Oh," she said. "That's..." She groped for a word, but came up empty. "Also lovely," she finished lamely. "I was actually hoping you could give me something for breakfast?"

"Aye, you're in luck. The buns are just out of the oven. I had to send the other fellow away empty-handed - he came too early."

"Other fellow?" she asked.

"Tall chap with a mask on."

"Oh." She sensed nothing else from the cook, neither fear nor curiosity at the masked stranger. As far as Dole was concerned, Jack was simply another belly to fill. She decided she liked him better for it. "Could I have two, please?"

She found the mage quicker than she could have hoped. Her first impulse had been to go to Lord Redden's rooms, as the princess had told her the night before that Jack was staying there. A servant told her how to find them, directing her to cut across the ballroom and take the grand staircase. She stopped to look at the window where Jack had been hiding the day before, wondering for the first time why he would have been doing such a thing, and that was when she saw him, not behind the curtains again, but in the courtyard below, so she made her way to it.

He sat on the edge of a fountain in the courtyard's center, reading a fat book as the water splashed behind him. He still wore the long, black leather coat, but the scarf that covered his features today was a soft shade of yellow. The broad hat was missing, and his dark hair stood up in crooked spikes, as though he'd done nothing to fix how he'd slept on it. He started slightly when he noticed her - he must not have heard her coming over the sound of the water - and stood. "My lady," he said, bowing.

People didn't normally bow and address her so formally. This is the black mage that has the council quivering in their boots, she thought. The absurdity of It made her smile. "I've brought you this," she said, holding out the napkin-wrapped, still warm bun.

He took the offering with a confused crease between his eyebrows, but his eyes brightened as he comprehended what it was.

"May I sit with you?" she asked.

"Please," he said, gesturing toward the fountain.

The water was clear, and looked pleasant, so she slipped off her sandals and swung her legs over, pulling the hem of her white robe up to keep it dry. The mage regarded her curiously, but said nothing.

"I like water," she said by way of explanation.

He merely nodded. His eyes were blue, the same blue as the little flame he carried within. She hadn't noticed it before.

It occurred to her then that she couldn't sense anything from him, no emotions, no thoughts, which was odd because he did have very expressive eyes. For instance, just now he seemed curious about her presence. Curious and confused. That was fine: her aunt Clara always said it was best to keep them guessing. But this was the first time in a long while anyone had done the same for her.

She tried to think if she'd felt anything from him on the stairwell the day before, but could only recall her own fear of Father Todd, and Todd's fear of Jack. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't sensed anything from him since their first encounter in the harbor square.

She focused her will on him - not a soul reading, just her full attention - and with effort she was able to pick out what he was feeling: confusion and curiosity, yes, but also shame and embarrassment. She couldn't see the cause for those. She felt his hunger, heavy, as if he'd skipped a meal, so why wasn't he eating now?

The mask! He was too shy to remove it in front of her! She blushed furiously, looking at her feet in the water. "I won't look," she said.

That had been too blunt. She felt a little stab of pain from him and pulled her focus away. It was one thing to feel the emotions of random people on the street, but to reach for them intentionally like this seemed far too personal, particularly when the primary emotion was humiliation.

He seemed frozen to the spot, but she kept her head down. Eventually she felt him shift beside her, heard him eating. She stared intently at her feet, squeezing her eyes shut when the temptation to turn and look became almost too great to bear.

She didn't open her eyes until he tapped her shoulder. He was covered again, looking steadily at her, and she noticed now where a thin edge of his scars showed above the scarf on the left, the more damaged side. When her eyes met his, he said only, "Thank you, my lady."

She blushed again and looked away. "It's just Lena." She tried to look at him again, but he was still staring intently at her. She gave up and looked at the water instead. Water was always nice. "I'm sure they've told you... About how we have to leave tomorrow."

"Yes, my lady."

She let it pass this time. It was customary in many parts of the world to address white mages so; perhaps he was from one of those. She said quickly, "But I need to return to White Hall - there are things there I need, spellbooks and such. Only after what happened yesterday..."

"You're afraid to go alone," he finished for her.

"I can make it worth your time, of course. Black Hall is nearby, and I can introduce you there. Surely they'll be eager to help you prepare for our journey."

"It would be an honor to accompany you," he said. "And I thank you for inviting me."

He meant it. She felt his gratitude without trying, but lost the sensation as soon as it had begun. He's doing that, she realized. He's reining his feelings in himself. She looked toward him again at last, but his covered face gave nothing away.

When she swung her legs out of the fountain and slipped back into her shoes, he stood, held out a hand to help her up, then tucked her arm into his as he had the day before.

He sighed. "You'll have to lead the way again."

She couldn't help it - she laughed out loud.

He didn't know what had changed, but she no longer seemed afraid of him. As she led him through the nearly empty city streets, she told him about the oldest buildings, pointed out those that had been damaged in the recent quakes. He'd been surprised at the extent of the damage - the quakes at Crescent Lake were neither as frequent nor as severe as Cornelia's must be.

She had offered to go with him to Black Hall, but he had turned her down, not wanting to distract her from her own preparations. After agreeing to meet there at first chime, he'd walked her to the door of White Hall and watched as she went inside, before turning to his own task.

Black Hall was not actually black. It was built of the same stone as White Hall, the same as the castle, a blue-grey limestone that seemed to be everywhere in the city, though each building was uniquely designed. While White Hall tended toward curved walls and high windows, Black Hall was all sharp corners, but with one wide, round window of colored glass above the double-doored entrance. He stopped in the street to admire the window's design, a pleasing mix of colors and shapes that radiated out from the center but followed no pattern. As he looked, one of the doors opened. An old man leaned against it, his long beard white against black robes, beckoning to someone in the street.

Jack looked about, but he was the only one there at this time of day. He stepped toward the Hall. The old man smiled in greeting.

"You were expecting me?" Jack asked.

"I hoped you'd come," the old man said. "The others didn't think you would, but when I heard one of the Warriors of Light was a black mage, I hoped."

The two of them stepped inside, but the foyer was empty. There were no other people, no furnishings, only a patina of dust, patterned by the colorful window. The elder mage, who introduced himself as Morgan, shuffled slowly; he didn't require a walking stick, and his back was still proud and straight, but he was obviously very old. Jack followed him patiently.

They came to a library, a large room at the back of the building with more colored glass windows. The windows didn't let in much light - they looked out on a small, walled garden, abundantly overgrown. Throughout the room, books and papers covered every table and many of the chairs, some of the piles spilling over into the floor. A fire burned in a large hearth in the far wall, flanked by armchairs, one of which contained an old woman, asleep with a book on her chest and a cat in her lap. The cat blinked once at them, stretched, and sauntered away. The woman did not stir.

"I took the liberty of looking up a few spells for you," Morgan said, shuffling toward a table near the fireplace. "I didn't know if you had taken the Oath yet, so I apologize if any of them are below your skill. I meant no insult."

Jack nodded. Black mages traditionally took an oath when they had completed their training. He had taken his own shortly before he'd left for Cornelia. He picked up a stack of papers from the table, skimming through them. A few he didn't need - fire and lightning came easily to him - but here was a spell that could put an enemy to sleep, and another to stop an attacker in his tracks. "Does this one work as well as it says?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I've never tried it," the old man said.

The two of them spent the next few hours flipping through whatever spell books Morgan thought would be useful. Occasionally, Jack copied a spell or a theory onto a scrap of paper. When the light in the window told him it was midday, he rolled the spells and notes together and placed them in an inner coat pocket. "Thank you," he said, standing to go. It wasn't much, but it was more than he'd had that morning. He surveyed the room, the crowded shelves, the books piled on tables. It would take him years to merely skim through them all. "I thought I'd have more time," he said.

"I wish there was more I could do," Morgan said.

Suddenly, Jack was struck by the emptiness of the room, the number of tables and chairs and books and only two black mages to make use of them all - three if he counted the woman sleeping in the armchair. "What happened here?" he asked, finally speaking aloud the questions that had plagued him all morning. "Why has black magic been outlawed? And why didn't I know about it? My friend in the castle tells me the ban has been in effect for nearly twenty years, yet none of my instructors saw fit to mention it."

Morgan nodded slowly, as if he'd been waiting for this. He gestured for Jack to retake his seat. When he did, the old man said, "The rumors say you came from Crescent Lake?"

Jack nodded.

"Your instructors were probably ashamed. I imagine at least a few of them are those who fled from Cornelia when the trouble started, rather than stand and fight."

"Trouble?" Jack asked.

"It's a long story. To start with, what do you know of dark magic?"

"Little," said Jack, which was true enough. While white magic originated from the soul of a white mage and was channeled outward, black mages drew power from the aether, the source of all life, and redirected it through their souls. A very few black mages, however, could draw their power not only from the aether but from other living souls: Dark mages. "I've heard the stories. That they kill children, can wipe out whole villages with a thought. But those are just stories. Dark mages can't draw power from someone to the point of death."

"Do you know why that is?"

"No." It was exactly the sort of thing his instructors wouldn't speak of, one of the many reasons he'd left the Lake.

Morgan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him. "The soul is a resilient little beast. It clings to that last bit of power. But that last bit's the most important. It's the seed from which all power grows. If a dark mage came in here and drew off of you, you'd be good as new within a day or so. The seed grows back. But can you imagine what it would do to that same dark mage's power if he was able to rip the seed out as well? To add it to his own power?"

He shook his head. "That's not possible."

"Not without killing, no." The old man hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.

Jack sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell me," he said.

"They called themselves the Penumbra Brotherhood. There was a group of them, here in the city, only a few at first, but as their power increased, their numbers grew." Morgan turned in his chair so that he was staring at the fire instead of at Jack. "At first, we were pleased with their results, before we knew exactly how they were achieving them. They could do amazing things. I won't describe for you the kind of power they had."

Jack couldn't imagine it. The only limit to a mage's power was the size of his own soul's aether reserves. But if the only way to increase those reserves was through unethical means, what kind of mage would do such a thing?

The cat wandered back in and Morgan bent down, waggling his fingers at it, until it came over and let him pick it up. "We tried to put a stop to it, but it was too late. By the time we learned what they were doing, there were too many of them, too drunk with power. They didn't just turn on us, but the whole city. The fires burned for days. When it was over, we'd driven out the Brotherhood, but they'd defeated us as well: they were only scattered, not destroyed. They're still out there, to this day. Our best mages were dead; the people were afraid of us. When the late king proposed the ban, the mage council agreed to it. Half the councilors were black mages back then, and still they agreed to it."

There was no sound but the crackling fire, the purring cat, and the bell tower outside tolling first chime. Lena would be waiting. "I have to go," Jack said, making no move to arise.

"Why come all this way, if you don't mind my asking?" said Morgan. "The Crescent Sages are renowned the world over. Surely, we've nothing to offer here compared to what they have."

"I had questions my teachers couldn't answer." Wouldn't answer, he thought. "They told me Black Hall had the largest collection of magical tomes in the world. I left as soon as I'd taken the Oath."

"Perhaps when this Warrior of Light business is finished, you'll have more time to look for answers." Morgan stood, pushing the cat to the floor. It meowed indignantly and returned to the lap of the still-sleeping woman, who petted it drowsily but did not waken.

Jack stood again. "Perhaps," he said, but it was beginning to occur to him that he might not like the answers if he found them.

He turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Lena rushing into the library, her arms loaded with books and a cloth-wrapped bundle. Her hood was down, and her hair was wet. She was out of breath as well, as though she'd run a long way, farther than the distance between here and White Hall at least. She smiled when she saw him. "Oh, good. When I didn't see you outside, I thought you might have left without me. I'm sorry I kept you." She turned to the elder mage and said, "Hello, Father Morgan."

"Hello, Lena," said Morgan. "Just come from the cove?"

Lena answered him, but Jack wasn't listening. He was thinking of the Brotherhood: only scattered, not destroyed, a fraternity of dark mages somewhere in hiding, and a whole city afraid of him because of them.

Author's Note: I've always been partial to caster characters in fantasy fiction. The big strong man with a sword tends to get all the credit (you'll notice we call them "Arthurian Legends" rather than "Merlinian Legends"), but if I wanted strong men with swords, I'd read history. Possibly the reason characters like Merlin get glossed over is because nobody wants to explain how the magic works.
So here's my Final Fantasy story, in which a couple of the main characters are mages. In FF6, the power comes from magical creatures called Espers. In FF7, it's from materia. In FF1? It just is. How does it work? Why is black magic different from white magic? I didn't want to fall back on the trope of "White = Good! Black = Bad!" so in the end, I boiled it all down to one question: Where does it come from?
In this chapter, I have my first super simple explanation of (my interpretation of) the magic you see in the video game. More (less simple) explanations to come in future chapters.
Also, shout out to the spell "LOCK", which in the original FF1 was bugged and never worked. Did you catch the reference?