The Widow's game : Elynor's Legacy & The Royal Spell

"I don't think I can do this." Isolde sighed as she packed her small satchel, her grandmother was tending to a small fire the elderly woman abruptly turned around, seemingly eager to scold her granddaughter, "I don't want to hear you say that Isolde." Her grandmother dried her hands, on an old cloth hanging from her belt, "You are the only one left who can. Your father, your uncles, all gone, swallowed by the darkness. You must take the torch, Isolde, and light the way for those who follow." She stood tall, her eyes burning with an intensity that belied her frail frame. "You have the heart of a lion, the courage of a warrior, and the spirit of a seer. You will not falter."

"But grandmother, I-I well, we don't have much....I fear I won't measure up." Isolde's voice quivered gently a sign of her failing confidence, "You have your magic, my dear."

"Yes, and so do the others!" the young woman retorted, unable to hold back the panic rising in her chest. Her grandmother's eyes flashed with a fierce light, "But they lack your heart, your conviction. Your magic is tied to your soul, Isolde. It is not just a tool, but an extension of who you are." She gently took her granddaughter's hands in her own, her touch warm and reassuring despite the gnarled fingers.

"Remember the story I told you as a child?" Isolde sighed, her emerald eyes fell to her feet downcast and ashamed, "Grandmother please-"

"Repeat it to me, Isolde." Her grandmother's voice was firm, brooking no argument. Isolde hesitated for a moment, then began to recite the familiar tale: "In the darkest of times, when hope seemed lost, a young woman stood alone against the shadows. Her magic was but a flicker, but her heart... her heart burned like a beacon in the night." Isolde's voice grew stronger as she continued, the words flowing from memory. "She faced the abyss, not with strength or power, but with the unwavering belief that light would always overcome darkness. And so she did, for her conviction was a force greater than any spell, and her love a shield stronger than steel." As Isolde finished, her grandmother's eyes shone with pride and something more - a fierce, unyielding hope.

"That is you, Isolde. That is who you are."

The words her grandmother spoke left no real impression on the young woman, Isolde sighed, "I hope you are right, grandmother."

"I am always right. Now, hurry along you don't want to be late." Isolde nodded, slinging her satchel over her shoulder as she stepped out into the crisp morning air. The world around her was still shrouded in the pre-dawn gloom, the sky a deep, inky blue. As she walked, the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows across the winding path before her. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth, a reminder of the wilderness that surrounded her small village. Today was her first day, the start of the rest of her life: the day she would be initiated into the Elynorian court as a mage. Her small village resided on the farthest outskirts of the kingdom it would take her at least an hour on foot but, if she's lucky she'll be given room and board. At thirty years old she was a woman who had prided herself on being competent, reliable, and dedicated to her craft but still struggled with her own set of inferiorities. As she walked, Isolde's mind wandered to the upcoming initiation. 

Her grandmother had always emphasized the importance of the heart in magic - that true power came from within, from one's very soul. But now, as she faced the reality of the situation, Isolde couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. In the last twenty-five years, the magic that was once believed to be lost for good resurrected, an almost extinct art form until the Queen and King brought it back to life following the Daeth rebellion. With the help of ancient eleven stones and carefully excavated documents and resources, magic was reborn. The kingdom now flourished with magic as it had never before and the need for skilled magic users became more and more apparent. The Elynorian court was the first to create a formal magic academy to train and develop the art of magic. Isolde walked down the narrow dirt road, her boots kicking up small clouds of dust as she went. She passed a small group of farmers who were already in the field, their greetings soft and respectful.

"Good luck, Isolde!" A few farmers starting on their work for the day bid her with warm wishes and praise, "Our Isolde is the best! She's the pride of our village make sure to show them!"

Isolde smiled faintly, nodding her thanks as she continued along the path. The journey to the academy was longer than she had anticipated. The sun climbed higher in the sky, its warmth a gentle caress against her skin. As she walked, Isolde's mind wandered to her grandmother's words, her heart, and the tale she had been told since childhood. Her grandmother had raised her ever since she was a child, her parent's untimely death was shrouded in mystery and Isolde never questioned her grandmother's resolve to raise her alone. As she walked, Isolde's thoughts drifted to the future, to the challenges that lay ahead. The road before her was long and winding, but she pressed on, her determination to succeed driving her forward. As she walked, Isolde's mind wandered to the upcoming initiation. She had spent years perfecting her magic, honing her skills with painstaking dedication.

Isolde finally reached the sprawling gates of the academy, the ornate metal was polished to a high shine, glinting in the afternoon sunlight. As she approached, the gates swung open with an ominous groan, revealing the vast courtyard beyond. Isolde stepped inside, her boots clicking against the smooth flagstones.

"Here we go." She muttered under her breath as she made her way through the archway. The courtyard was alive with activity. Students, both young and old, milled about in their academy uniforms, which Isolde noted with growing unease that she'd forgotten to change before coming. She clutched her satchel a little tighter, trying to hide the plain dress she was still wearing. A stern-looking woman with graying hair approached her sharp gaze immediately, catching Isolde's improper attire. The woman's eyes narrowed as she took in Isolde's appearance, her lips pursing disapprovingly.

"You there," she snapped, her voice cutting through the din of the courtyard. "What is your name, and what is your purpose here?" Isolde hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the woman's directness. She swallowed, steeling herself before responding, "I am Isolde. I am here to attend the initiation ceremony, Head Mage."

The stern woman's eyes flashed with annoyance at Isolde's tardiness and improper attire. "Initiation? You mean to tell me you're here for the initiation, and you're not even dressed appropriately?" She clicked her tongue in disapproval, her gaze raking over Isolde's plain dress. "I should have known. You're from that little backwater village, aren't you? The one that barely even knows magic exists."

"Forgive me I-"

"Head Mage Esmeralda?" A voice interrupted a smooth baritone that cut through the tension like a blade. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a tailored, navy-blue robe emblazoned with silver threads stepped between you and the stern woman, his posture commanding yet approachable. His hair was a silver mane, swept back from a chiseled face, and his eyes were a piercing blue.

"Isolde, I presume?"

 Isolde blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly at the interruption. She had heard tales of the Senior Head Mage, of course, but to see him in the flesh was something else entirely. "Yes, I am Isolde," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach. "I apologize for my tardiness and my attire. I was not aware of the dress code." She bowed her head slightly, a show of respect and deference.

Head Mage Esmeralda's eyes flashed with annoyance, her lips pursing in disapproval as she took in Isolde's words. "Not aware of the dress code?" she scoffed, her voice dripping with condescension. "How could you not know? It's posted on every noticeboard in the kingdom." She stepped closer, her presence intimidating as she loomed over Isolde. "And tardiness? At the academy, punctuality is paramount."

"Mage Esmeralda, that is enough." Another woman stepped forth from behind the trio, Isolde felt her breath hitch she knew exactly who she was, "Royal Mage Natalia? I did not expect to see you here today." The man spoke brightly, greeting her with a friendly hug.

Mage Natalia smiled warmly at the Alric, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she regarded the scene before her. "Head Mage Esmeralda, always the stickler for rules, I see," she remarked, her voice smooth and melodic. "But I must agree with you, Isolde. Tardiness and improper attire are not the best first impressions." Her words were firm, but not unkind, as she turned her attention to Isolde.

"However, I believe we can make an exception this once. After all, we all started somewhere, and not everyone has the privilege of growing up in the heart of the kingdom." Mage Natalia's gaze settled on Isolde, and for a moment, she saw something in the young woman that reminded her of her own journey.

"It seems like it's time, shall we?" Mage Alric motioned for the woman to begin their journey to the assembly hall. Isolde bowed deeply before hurriedly turning away; she couldn't bear to think any longer of that horrid interaction. She couldn't help but feel a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. The stern gaze of Mage Esmeralda still lingered in her mind, and the weight of her own tardiness and improper attire pressed heavily upon her shoulders.

She quickened her pace, her boots clicking against the flagstones as she navigated the winding paths of the academy grounds. The air was thick with the scent of old stone and fresh grass, and the sound of chatter from nearby students filled her ears. As she approached the assembly hall, its tall, ornate doors looming before her, Isolde took a deep, steadying breath. The grand entrance was flanked by towering pillars, intricately carved with symbols that she recognized as the Elynorian runic script. The doors were flung open by two robed figures, and a hushed silence fell over the gathered crowd inside. As Isolde stepped through the threshold, she felt every eye in the vast chamber turn to her, their gazes heavy and judging. The assembly hall was a sight to behold, with its high vaulted ceiling adorned with stained glass windows that cast vibrant colors across the polished wooden floor. Rows of chairs were arranged in a semicircle before a raised dais where the initiation ceremony would take place. The air was thick with tension and expectation, and Isolde's heart beat faster as she took her place at the back of the crowd. She stood out among the sea of academy uniforms, her simple dress feeling even more out of place in this grand setting.

"Don't think, just do." she whispered to herself.