The Elemental Chain Saga Book Two: Dragons Ascending

Chapter Twelve: Silver and Gold

Greg got up, his head pounding harshly. It couldn't have happened the way he remembered, but as he looked around at the torn up room he knew it was true.

Something had come out of the void.

Greg didn't know what it meant. He had never heard of such a thing happening, besides the rumors of demons, of course. He could still feel the clinging darkness on him, making him feel unclean.

He stumbled through the wreckage. The room was in complete dismay. Tables flipped over and wood splinters strewn across the ground. Greg walked across the room to the open door, stepping with care. He walked out into the hallway, scanning his eyes down the hallway in both directions. The hallway was plain, white everything with torches hanging from iron brackets on the walls. No one was there.

Greg swept down the hallway, the foreign amber robes flowing behind him. He wasn't sure he would ever grow accustomed to them. Whenever he donned them, it was out of necessity, yet it would never be of like or even neutrality. It irked him that he was forced to wear the blatant and atrocious mark of the Andanobii.

He fumed down the hallway, making brisk turns every now and then. In his mind, he kept perfect track of what turns he made in case he had to backtrack. Greg had long ago made a habit out of it. Who knows how many times I've had to run for me life? He actually chuckled, surprising himself given the circumstance. "Always an optimistic chap, eh?" he chuckled again, stopping as he felt a wave of cold darkness.

He tried to ignore the ring on his finger. He wished to cast it off his finger and leave it to lay. But as much as he wished, he couldn't. The ring was part of his mission. So he wore the accursed thing and listened to its echoes of power.

He walked into his room and closed the door quietly.

He tore the ring off his finger, stuffing it in his pocket. He tried to not think about what he had done, the thing he had released from the void. He hoped it had died, or at least it wasn't anything demonic; he couldn't bare to deal with the guilt that what he had released would hurt someone.

Clearing his mind of all thoughts, Greg readied himself to Winderlate. He invoked the two symbols of power, Libra and Aquarius. He let loose the incantation "Ianuae Magicae."

A gust whipped and stirred around the room, the wind fluttering the amber cloak he wore. Greg's aura burst silver around him, lighting him like an angelic pyre. Sucking in a gulp of air, Greg snapped out of existence to the sound of rushing wind.
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Fypalenor looked up at the center of the room, his sharp magic sensory and keen eyes picking up the soft disturbance in the air, rippling like a heat wave.

With a rush of air, Greg was Formed in the elemental leader's quarters. Greg felt the energy rush out of him from the successful Winderlate spell. He stumbled a little from such a drastic drop in his aura.

The room was a regular office, oak wood desk and chairs, a cluttered bookcase full of old, weathered tomes pressed against the right wall. A large window let in streams of twinkling sunshine.

Greg quickly straightened himself "Farbeam," he said, addressing the man sitting behind the large desk.

Fypalenor gestured with a red robed arm for Greg to continue. "Please, Greg," Fypalenor spoke cheerfully, "no need for all the formalities. I have known you for a very long time and I insist that you treat me as such."

Greg looked at the great leader in surprise. He looked carefully at the man in his late fifties. He had a robe of blazing red and donned a tall, wizard-like hat of a brilliant gold. His face was clean shaven but curls of humorously green hair drifted below the brim of his hat. Greg had always assumed he had worn it to make his short appearance stand out more but he also presumed it was to hide his outrageous hair. Few had seen the elemental warrior without his grand hat, it was a trademark of his.