Arrival
Pt. 2
Macy Vaughn sat hunched over her desk in her meticulously organized office, a dim lamp
casting a pale glow over an array of books, magical artifacts, and advanced research papers.
The room buzzed faintly with magical wards she had set up, safeguarding her space as she
worked tirelessly to solve the puzzle of her impending death.
Her latest diagnostic spell fizzled out, leaving her no closer to an answer.
Her heart pounded as frustration flared.
She glanced at a clock.
3:14 a.m.
Again. Sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford.
"This isn't how it ends," she muttered, flipping through a thick tome of arcane lore.
She barely registered the faint hum building in the air around her until the room shook.
Papers flew off her desk, and everything around her, touched by magic, glowed intensely.
"What the—" Macy barely had time to react before a crackling portal of fire erupted in front of
her. The heat from the portal opening seared her skin, immediately turning reddish at the point
of contact. The portal plunged her into a swirling mist of power that she can feel but cannot
access. It dropped her behind a warehouse near some wooden crates and used nets.
The docks were a cacophony of chaos as the workers and fishermen scrambled to safety,
their shouts echoing over the creak of moored ships and the crash of splintering crates. A thick
cloud of dust hung in the air, obscuring the figure at its center. People stood frozen beyond the
haze, their wide eyes darting between each other and the wreckage, unsure whether to flee or
approach.
Macy groaned as she pushed herself up from the pile of shattered wood and rope, her back
aching from the unexpected impact. Dusting off her black blazer and slacks, she coughed,
waving a hand to clear the lingering cloud around her face. Her other hand instinctively went to
her hip, checking for the comforting presence of her satchel of vials.
The murmurs began to rise from the onlookers.
"Who is she?"
"Did she fall from the sky?"
"No one could survive that—look at the crates!"
Macy's dark eyes scanned the crowd, her mind racing. The people stared at her with suspicion
and awe, their fear palpable. She straightened, squaring her shoulders, her usual composure
returning as she caught her reflection in a broken pane of glass. Her normally well-kept hair was
disheveled, and there was a smear of dirt across her cheek.
Perfect.
The dust finally settled enough for her to get a proper look at her surroundings. The salty air of
the docks filled her lungs, a stark contrast to the sterile scent of her.
Ships rocked gently in the water, their sails flapping against the breeze, while workers and
vendors stood behind overturned barrels and stacks of netting, peeking cautiously at her.
Taking a deep breath, she addressed them. "I'm sorry for the... disturbance," she said, her voice
calm yet commanding. "But I need to know where I am."
A man in a heavy, salt-stained coat stepped forward hesitantly, his weathered face creased with
concern. "You're on the Waterdeep docks," he said, glancing nervously at the broken crates
around her. "Who are you? How did you get here?"
Macy hesitated, the weight of his question sinking in. How much should she reveal? Macy
frowned, her mind racing. Before she could question him further, a sudden, overwhelming
sensation washed over her—a pull, almost magnetic, that seemed to reverberate deep within
her soul.