The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage: Wandmaker Vol.2

Interlude WM [108.5] Playing For Keeps

Eira sat hunched in the eye of a storm made of ink, parchment, journals torn open, scrolls unfurled, diagrams pinned on walls, and arcane artifacts humming softly with spent magic. Her fingers were stained with ink and chalk and something that smelled of wither.

It had been months since she met it, the entity that smelled like endings and felt like frostbite. She had named it Kaldruna, though she wasn't sure it had ever truly had a name. Kaldruna was not a woman, not a True Immortal, not a thing meant for mortal eyes. She had worn the shape of a woman the way a hunter wears the fur of past hunts. Her voice had sounded like wind through tombstones, and her touch... Eira shuddered.

The entity had torn the regression magic from her soul like it was rot to be excised. Since that moment, Eira had been unraveling, one thread at a time. Now, with every heartbeat, Kaldruna was closer.

Eira could feel her—the cold breath behind her shoulder, the whisper curling through the candle flame. Kaldruna hadn't returned, not physically. But she was there. She was always there. Every time Eira closed her eyes, she felt the weight of a coffin lid brushing her skin. Every time she blinked, she imagined waking up nowhere.

She had lived a thousand lives. She had died in every conceivable way. She had laughed in the face of blades, fire, poison, and the void itself. But now?

"How do people do this? How do they only live once and not fear the end? Do they not know? Ignorant that that thing is waiting just out of sight." She said as she chewed her nails as she wrote. "This has to work. No-no, I already tried that."

Sobbing, Eira scratched another line into the crumbling remains of a failed spellform she had been constructing. She needed to remake the reincarnation spell but she couldn't remember it. She could feel that part of her memory had been excised just as thoroughly as the spell had been ripped from her soul. Concepts that she held as immutable and unforgettable were held just out of reach. The ink bled, like it knew it was useless.

"Why won't it work?" she hissed, teeth clenched. Then louder: "Why won't it work!"

She slammed her fist into the desk. Wood cracked. Her voice cracked with it. The chair clattered to the floor behind her. She swept her arm across the table in one violent arc, flinging tomes, writing utensils, ink and countless notes to the ground. Her aura erupted, a brief storm of starlight mana surging from her core infusing into her aura. For a heartbeat, her skin looked as brilliant as a thousand galaxies, burning with power.

She screamed then, silence. The light dimmed. Her breathing slowed. Her shoulders sagged. The dread remained.

"Calm down Eira, calm down." Her voice was far from steady. "Your soul has healed. You have fought a thousand wars. Lived a thousand times. You can solve this, you did it in your first life, when you were your weakest."

The wound Kaldruna had left in her soul had scabbed over. However the fear was as raw and primal as the moment she first saw the entity.

How did anyone live like this? Knowing that death would stick? How did mortals smile? How did they breathe, or sleep, or fall in love? Did they not see it? Did they not feel her lurking behind every heartbeat?

Eira pressed a trembling hand to her neck. Cold phantom fingers were already there.

Eira flinched and blinked to the other end of the room. Her breath quick, wand raised, spears of light already formed and ready to strike. There was no one there. Only her books and papers strewn across the floor. She swore she felt the cold hand that grasped her.

She slowly lowered her wand. The spears of light flickered, then vanished into nothing. But she didn't look away from the empty space in the center of the room. Her gaze stayed locked, unmoving, as if Kaldruna might simply appear from the void and finish what she had started.