The One

Animorbis

Strange...where am I?

Izar found himself in a place he had never seen before. He was standing on an island, but the island had little land. There was just enough room for him to stand; aside from the thin ring of sand, the whole island was engulfed in flames. Above those flames was a nearly transparent palace, seemingly unaffected by the fire. Where he stood, Izar could see the shape of large double doors, connected to a flight of stairs the same color as the palace—stairs that extended from the doors to where he stood on the sand. Clearly, it was an invitation. But before he would let himself be led further into this bizarre place, he would first take a good look at his surroundings.

Except there was quite literally nothing: just an island, surrounded by an endless sea.

Could I teleport out? Izar wondered. He made the effort immediately, but to no avail. Someone is keeping me here by force then, he concluded. There aren't many who can do so.

With that thought in mind, he pulled his hood lower over his glaring silver eyes. Before going up the stairs, he touched its railing warily. It was cold to the touch—made entirely of ice, perhaps. Looking up, he realized that the palace seemed to be made of the same material.

An ice palace on top of fire?

Nonetheless, seeing no other option, he made his way up.

Waiting for him on the throne was a woman in a floor-length, white fur-trim chiffon cape dress. Her silver hair was long and silky, reaching past her knees. A butterfly hair clip in the color of pearl river perched gracefully on the right side of her head, keeping her hair out of her amethyst eyes. Her lips were the same color as her eyes; her skin was unnaturally pale, yet it matched the throne on which she was sitting. On her left hand, she held a silver staff with a crystal blue orb at the top.

Only sorcerers wielded staffs; staffs were summoned by an accessory on the sorcerer—but even if one were to lose their accessory or staff, there was nothing to worry about. No one but the original owner of the staff could use or summon it, and even when lost, one only needed to craft it again. Staffs were not more powerful than bare hands; they were just easier to use, although it required more effort to make in the first place—that was why only sorcerers used them. It was at the same time a symbol of status and simply more convenient.

The sorceress on the throne looked to be in her twenties, but with sorcerers, one could never tell. Nevertheless, the only two people in the palace recognized each other instantly.

"I'm leaving," Izar announced as soon as he saw who it was that had summoned him. "I have nothing more to say to you."

"If only you could." The sorceress's voice was as smooth as her hair, even though her words were cold. "You will only fail. Why do you try?"

Izar scoffed, "If you're so sure that I'll fail, why are you trying to stop me? Why not just watch me fail?"

The sorceress stepped down from her throne. She strode elegantly to Izar and, standing just a bit taller than him, she raised a slender hand to lift his chin so that he could no longer hide his eyes. Smirking slightly, she said, "Be disappointed once more and you will break—isn't that so? When I saw the girl two weeks ago, all I sensed in her was unwarranted curiosity and great magical energy. She has no dreams, no goal. A person like that, Izar Quartermaine...will not make your dreams come true."

"Mind your own business." Izar turned away from her, unaffected by her exotic beauty.

"Siblings ultimately turn against one another," the woman continued regardless, knowing he would listen—if only because he could not escape. "Particularly when the younger sister is more powerful."

"Pft."

"What?"

"Hilarious," Izar said, "Are you looking down on me so much that you felt completely safe bringing me into your animorbis? That's what this place is, isn't it? Powerful as you might be, the world is not all within your control. Only your own animorbis is."

"That may be true," the sorceress admitted, "But so what? If I were to kill you here, nobody would know how you died."

As she spoke, a white beam was emitted from her staff. Izar dodged, and it narrowly missed him.

"If you really meant to kill me, that would not have missed," he said, "An animorbis is a private dimension used exclusively by its owner; no one else can enter or exit without the owner's consent. Everyone's animorbis looks different depending on the state of their heart and mind. Then—what's up with fire and ice on top of one another?" Saying so, his usual smile returned. "Perhaps you are conflicted yourself, and you actually have the same wish as I do? Are you pushing me so that I will try harder?"

"Nonsense," the sorceress denied. Without moving from her spot, she attacked again, this time by surrounding him in a ring of light. "I try to stop you only to remove uncertainty from my reign."

Izar anchored himself to the ceiling of the palace and pulled himself up with rope-like mist. After gaining freedom from the ring of light, he landed outside of it, behind the woman.

"And this whole place is a singular island. Oh, perhaps you are in fact rather lonely, despite being the center of two worlds? Perhaps you've lifted the ban on most of my powers in this animorbis so that I can struggle and survive your blows—perhaps you actually appreciate my existence as the only person who knows your true colors?"

She turned, her expression nonchalant still.

"No chance. That aside, Izar Quartermaine, since when have you learned to push others for answers? It isn't like you."

Izar shrugged. "I'm still new at this, but it does feel quite good." No wonder she smiled like that when I relented, he added as a thought to himself, thinking of Feray. "But don't change the subject, ancient one. Face yourself and answer my questions."

"I already answered," she said, "And do not call me 'ancient'."

"That means I'm right," Izar concluded. "Heh...if you're not ancient, who is? Would you rather I call you by name...Odessa?"