010 Clergy of Magic

  Lord Kristoff sat behind his grand oak desk, his gauntleted fingers steepled thoughtfully as he surveyed the reports before him. The te afternoon sunlight streamed in through the tall stained-gss windows, casting multi-colored patterns across the polished stone floor of his office. Papers detailed troop movements, diplomatic correspondences, and the test tensions with the adventurers’ guilds. Friction was brewing. Again.

  Kristoff had reached his current position as both Captain of the Ameron Clergy’s forces and Lord of Rague by doing what few others could—maintaining the delicate bance between order and chaos. It wasn’t about power for him. It was about stability. Ensuring that magic wasn’t abused, that rogue mages didn’t run unchecked, and that the safety of the world wasn’t compromised by reckless adventurers with more ambition than sense.

  But tely, that stability felt… fragile.

  Kristoff exhaled slowly, pushing the reports aside. His blue cloak, embzoned with the silver sigil of the Clergy of Magic, draped regally over his armored shoulders as he stood and walked to the balcony. From there, he had a sweeping view of Rague—a sprawling city of towering spires, bustling marketpces, and cobbled streets winding through districts both old and new.

  Rague had been devastated by the war, reduced to rubble in some areas, but it had rebuilt itself. Brick by brick, stone by stone. Its people had endured. And yet, Kristoff couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all hanging by a thread. If another war were to grace the realm…

  He gripped the cold stone railing and stared down at the streets below. The people bustled about their business, blissfully unaware of the looming storm clouds on the horizon. Kristoff didn’t know what he’d do if that storm broke. He was a Lord to his people, sworn to protect them. But he was also a Mage of the Clergy, a defender of magical w. And sometimes, those two duties were at odds.

  A knock at the door broke his reverie.

  “Enter,” Kristoff said, turning away from the balcony.

  A young scribe stepped in, bowing respectfully. “My Lord, a message from the High Council.”

  Kristoff took the sealed parchment and dismissed the scribe with a nod. Breaking the crimson wax seal, he scanned the contents of the letter. His jaw tightened.

  It was worse than he’d feared.

  The High Council was concerned about increasing reports of rogue magic users operating within the realm. There had been sightings of unauthorized spellcasters, and rumors suggested that one of them might have ties to a long-forgotten faction opposed to the Clergy. The Council wanted Kristoff to investigate and, if necessary, eliminate the threat before it escated.

  Kristoff crumpled the letter in his fist. His mind drifted back to the growing tensions with the adventurers’ guilds. While most domains had agreed to a peaceful coexistence, there were whispers—moves being made behind the scenes. Some of the guilds weren’t content with the current bance of power. They wanted more freedom, fewer restrictions on magic use.

  And Kristoff was stuck in the middle.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He’d dealt with crises before. He’d survived wars, rebellions, and magical catastrophes. He could handle this. He had to.

  Striding back to his desk, Kristoff reached for the enchanted orb resting on a silver pedestal. The orb shimmered faintly as he activated it, connecting him to his second-in-command, Commander Halvar.

  “Halvar,” Kristoff said, his voice steady and authoritative.

  “My Lord,” came the reply, the orb flickering as Halvar’s face appeared within its depths.

  “Prepare the guard. We may have a situation on our hands. I want patrols increased in the lower districts, and I want eyes on any known rogue mages. Discreetly.”

  “Understood, my Lord.”

  “And Halvar,” Kristoff added, “keep an ear to the ground. I want to know if the adventurers are involved in any of this.”

  Halvar nodded. “As you command.”

  The connection severed, and the orb’s glow faded. Kristoff leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. There were too many unknowns, too many variables at py. For now, the city was at peace. But Kristoff knew better than anyone how quickly peace could shatter.

  The heavy air of his office buzzed faintly with magic as Lieutenant Morrow materialized out of thin air, his sudden arrival crackling like static electricity in the air. The teleportation spell dissipated with a soft hum, and Morrow stood upright, brushing his cloak as if he had simply strolled in through the door.

  Kristoff’s head snapped up from the parchment he’d been studying, his eyes narrowing as he leveled a disapproving gre at Morrow. “Lieutenant,” he said in a low, measured tone. “What did I say about teleporting into my office unannounced?”

  Morrow gave a sheepish grin, but his usual smugness was absent. “Apologies, my Lord, but this is of utmost importance.”

  Kristoff sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This had better be good.”

  “It’s about the Lich, Donatello,” Morrow said, his tone dropping to a near whisper, as if even speaking the name might summon the undead sorcerer from the abyss.

  Kristoff’s eyes sharpened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “Expin,” he commanded.

  Morrow straightened, his face grim. “There’s been a reported sighting, my Lord. Donatello has been seen entering the Outw City.”

  Kristoff sat back in his chair, his brow furrowing. “Outw City,” he repeated, his voice heavy with disdain. The Outw City was a wretched hive of mercenaries, criminals, and rogue mages—a wless pce beyond the Clergy’s reach. If Donatello had gone there, it wasn’t for anything good.

  “That’s not all,” Morrow continued. “He’s reportedly procured the services of a former Clergy member.”

  Kristoff’s eyes snapped back to Morrow. “A former Clergy?” His voice was sharp, ced with suspicion. “Who?”

  Morrow shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t have a name, my Lord. Whoever they were, they’ve vanished. Likely ran off after their encounter with the lich.”

  Kristoff scoffed. “What could a skeleton possibly want with a Clergy mage?” His tone dripped with incredulity. Then, after a moment’s pause, his expression darkened. “And what about the treaty?”

  That treaty had been a fragile thing, held together more by fear than trust. It had been a straightforward arrangement: in exchange for Donatello’s exile to a nd of his choosing, the Clergy would let him go, officially turning a blind eye to his existence. But Kristoff knew the truth. The deal had been made not out of generosity, but out of terror. The lich had done too much, wielded too much power during the war against the old gods. No one in the Clergy wanted to fight him again.

  And yet, they couldn’t ignore the atrocities he had committed. No matter how much Donatello had contributed to the war effort, his war crimes were too great to be forgiven.

  Morrow cleared his throat, drawing Kristoff’s attention. “We believe Donatello may be vioting the terms of the treaty.”

  Kristoff drummed his fingers on the desk, deep in thought. “If that’s true, we may be looking at a serious problem,” he muttered.

  “What are your orders, my Lord?” Morrow asked.

  Kristoff didn’t answer right away. He stood and walked back to the balcony, staring out over the city as he had earlier. The sun was setting now, casting long shadows across the rooftops. Somewhere out there, a lich was on the move, and if history was any guide, chaos would follow in his wake.

  “Double the patrols,” Kristoff said finally. “And keep an eye on the Outw City. I want to know if Donatello makes any further moves.”

  Morrow nodded. “Understood, my Lord.”

  As the lieutenant prepared to leave, Kristoff added, “And Morrow—no more teleporting into my office.”

  Morrow gave a faint smile. “Of course, my Lord.” With that, he turned and left, this time using the door like a normal person.

  The sky outside Kristoff’s office darkened as dusk settled over the City of Rague.

  Even after all these years, the scars of the war against the gods lingered—on the city, on its people, and especially on him.

  The war had taken everything from him: his father, his brothers, his childhood friends. He could still hear the desperate battle cries, the thunderous colpse of towers, and the anguished wails of the wounded. But worst of all had been watching his mother’s slow descent into madness after losing so much. She had been strong once, a beacon of hope for their family. The war had shattered her, leaving Kristoff to shoulder the burdens she could no longer bear.

  Kristoff clenched his fists, steeling himself against the memories. There was no time for dwelling on the past. The present demanded his attention.

  He stepped back inside his office and approached a crystal orb resting on an ornate pedestal near his desk. With a quick incantation, the orb fred to life, a swirling light coalescing into the sharp, angur face of Lieutenant Canary.

  “Lord Kristoff,” Canary greeted, a crooked grin spreading across his face. His blond hair was slicked back, and his eyes gleamed with a mix of cunning and amusement. Unlike Lieutenant Morrow, who followed the rules to the letter, Canary thrived in the shadows, handling the shadier aspects of being a mage of the Clergy. He was precisely the kind of person Kristoff needed right now.

  “Lieutenant,” Kristoff said, his tone cool and authoritative. “What’s the progress on the Philosopher’s Stone?”

  Canary’s grin widened. “Good news, my Lord. We’ve doubled our production.”

  Kristoff’s expression remained neutral, but his mind was already racing. The Philosopher’s Stone was one of the most coveted magical artifacts in existence—a source of limitless alchemical power. The Clergy’s experiments with the stone were highly cssified, known only to a select few. If production had indeed doubled, it meant they were closer to stabilizing its power.

  “Any complications?” Kristoff asked.

  “None so far,” Canary replied. “We’ve managed to keep everything under wraps. No leaks, no unwanted attention.”

  “Good,” Kristoff said. “The st thing we need is for word to get out. If the adventurers or the rogue mages catch wind of this, it could spark a conflict we’re not ready for.”

  “Understood,” Canary said, though his grin didn’t fade. “Still, it’s exciting, isn’t it? The potential here… It could change everything.”

  Kristoff didn’t respond immediately. He knew exactly what was at stake. The Philosopher’s Stone wasn’t just a tool for alchemy—it was a symbol of power, and in the wrong hands, it could tip the bance of the world.

  “Keep me updated,” Kristoff said finally. “And tighten security around the production site. I don’t want any surprises.”

  “Consider it done,” Canary said with a mock salute.

  The orb dimmed as the connection ended, and Kristoff stood in silence, his mind heavy with the weight of what y ahead. The Philosopher’s Stone was a gamble, a dangerous one, but it might be their only chance to maintain the fragile peace that held the realms together.

  He turned back to the balcony, staring out at the city once more. Somewhere out there, forces were moving—Donatello, the rogue mages, and who knew what else. Kristoff didn’t believe in fate, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that a storm was coming. And when it hit, there would be no turning back.