The Corsanians spent centuries building their famed capital city brick by brick, and then, when Spellar decreed the reverse-engineering of all human technology, screen by screen. They believed themselves immortal. Untouched by the Change, and funded by Spellar’s elite leadership, a gleaming city of glass and chrome took shape. Corsan City. It was modeled after the human cities of old. Towering skyscrapers caught the sunlight and attention of foreigners arriving on their shores. Paved streets cushioned weary feet. Parks sprouted like flowers across the city. Banners rippled on poles, proudly announcing Corsan City as the Northeastern Spellarian capital. Tourists were treated to a vista of cutting-edge tech and architecture. Universities flourished and attracted Spellarians by the thousands.

  The great and mighty Beacon shone at the highest tip of the tallest skyscraper at the center of the city. It was a globe cast in steel and polished over, forever spinning on magical currents fed by the inhabitants. It kept wild magic from sweeping over the land and causing unimaginable chaos. The Guardian, a millennia-old giant of magical technology, crafted by Techsin themselves, patrolled the oceans. Keeping danger out, and the Corsanians in.

  Corsan was the perfect Spellarian model, second only to Spellar itself.

  And it made Marco sick.

  Sweat streaked down his face and stung tiny cuts sustained from pushing through hawthorn bushes. It wasn’t his first trip up the mountain, and it probably wouldn’t be his last, yet every time he dreaded the steep climb. Climb, rest, drink, repeat. Sometimes he got a good view of the city stretched along the shoreline. Every time, it only made him unfathomably angry.

  He snuck a glance at Lucian. His speed was relaxed, unperturbed, even. Where effort lapsed, magic propelled him. Marco envied how every crevice grew larger at Lucian’s command, and every sharp rock smoothened before he gripped them to hoist himself higher.

  “Tired already?” he said. “I thought you were stronger than this.” His face was turned away, but Marco almost imagined the smirk spreading across his face.

  “Try going a day without magic and you’ll feel my pain,” he said, wiping away the worst of the sweat getting into his eyes.

  Lucian paused. “If you want, I can help you.”

  Marco considered his offer for a total of two seconds before shutting it down. Despite his current struggle battling biology, he didn’t want to depend on Lucian’s magic like he used to in those first few months when it was them against nature. Back when Marco knew less about magic and more about how romanticized it was in literature before the Change. How wrong he was, when Lucian tried a new trick and it backfired, leaving a scar on Marco’s upper arm shaped like a pixelated sunflower.

  “No,” he said flatly. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lucian said, shrugging before resuming his climb. “I’ll meet you at the top.”

  He was undaunted when a small ledge broke under his foot. Blue magic condensed into a solid foothold, which he used to propel himself even higher.

  Marco, meanwhile, resumed his ascent and tried his best not to look down. The fall would certainly kill him, if not the sheer embarrassment of being proved wrong. Nothing grated his nerves more than Lucian saying, “I told you so.”

  By this rate, he would crest the top by nightfall, and who knew what creatures lurked above the cliff. The rural locals often warned about injured hikers fleeing from monstrous shapes that stood silent at a distance, shrouded in shadow. Marco wouldn’t be surprised if he became a statistic soon.

  “Having fun yet?” Lucian shouted down the slopes.

  Marco lifted his head. “Way too much.”

  Fuck the oracle for forcing them to visit her weekly. Six months of prowling across two continents led them to her, and she had the gall to squeeze every drop of wealth she could the moment they showed at her home, panting and shaking from exhaustion. It was only because she was strong enough to pierce protective wards and locate magical items that they bothered to put up with her all. To maybe find the Everstone.

  Marco only bothered rolling out of bed earlier because a paper airplane arrived at their doorstep three days before their next meeting was due with a single word scrawled in her loopy handwriting. Come.

  He stopped. The next handholds were sheer. It’d take every ounce of strength to lift himself. Lucian slowly distanced himself, taking to the cliff like a spider crawling up its web.

  Now there was a high probability Marco would die, because his fingers began slipping from their handholds and Lucian was a shadow streaking across the cliff face.

  “Hey!” Marco shouted. Muscles tensed. He scrabbled for purchase and found another handhold, but it began cracking under his weight. “Lucian!” The figure enlarged, and Lucian descended on a blue rope tethered to thin air with a smirk. “Stop looking at me and help a brother out, won’t you?”

  Blue tendrils whipped out from Lucian’s back and snagged Marco by the waist. He was carried like a bundle of twigs, hoisted onto a ledge big enough to stand on without his feet sticking out. Once Marco gathered his breaths and slowed his heart rate, the tendrils dissipated, and Lucian produced a handful of berries from his backpack.

  “Want some?” he said.

  “They don’t look familiar.”

  “They’ll help. Trust me.”

  Marco popped them into his mouth. Warmth coated his throat as he swallowed. The heat spread to the rest of his body, a gentle warmth that cocooned and swaddled him. He felt lighter, somehow. Freer.

  “What the hell are these?” Marco said.

  “Surrisuave berries. One Peninsulan delicacy. I picked some up from the boat captain.” Lucian showed him the dozens of berries stuffed into a canvas bag. “They should last a few hours. It’ll help you finish the climb.”

  Marcos ran his tongue over his teeth. Lingering traces of sweetness tickled his taste buds. “Thank you,” he said begrudgingly. He knew what was coming next.

  “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so.” Marco glared, and Lucian shook his head, bangs floating over his eyes. “Let me help.”

  “No. I can do this.”

  “Are all humans this stubborn?” He rolled his eyes. “Okay. Shout for help if you need me. Again.”

  Lucian took off like a bullet. Marco tested his weight on the first handhold. He felt nimble. Strong. He let instinct guide him. Every step felt surer than the last, a certainty that no matter what, he would reach the top and bellow to the Corsanians that they were imposters, that everything they built on was by humans, for humans. Not them.

  Every day he spent on this forsaken world was one day closer to the big day they’d find the Everstone and cripple Spellar. Marco would make them bleed for their crimes.

  Soon enough, he reached the next sizable clearing. Lucian sat cross-legged, sipping from his canteen while gazing at Corsan City. From this height, the skyscrapers were like matchsticks. Marco imagined plucking a few and snapping them between his fingers, then stamping his foot down and grinding the rest into dust.

  “Water?” Lucian said. He shook his canteen. Marco held his hand up, taking several moments to catch his breath. “No? I saved your life, man. Least you can do is take it.”

  “You know what, give that shit to me.” Marco snatched the canteen and downed the rest of the water. Once finished, he wiped his lips off with the back of his hand and looked around. “Those were some crazy berries you gave me.”

  “Yeah, well, the captain’s reputation preceded her for a reason.” Lucian beckoned with his fingers, and Marco returned the canteen.

  He didn’t recognize this part of the cliff side, but a few feet above them the rock suddenly ended. “Please tell me we’re done,” Marco muttered.

  Lucian pointed to the side. A gravel trail began at the foot of the clearing and wound around several boulders, stopping at the oracle’s front door.

  “Oh,” Marco said dumbly. He rubbed his eyes and wiped away sweat from his brow. “I blame the berries.”

  Painted grey with lichens sprouting between cracks in its cobblestone foundation, the house was like an offshoot of the dreary mountain itself. A raised bed hugging the house’s outskirts grew sickly white flowers in grey soil. Black water sprayed out of a sprinkler. Petals and leaves sagged under the onslaught.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Fits the old woman, don’t you think?” Lucian said, nudging Marco’s ribs. “She’s just as dead as everything else.”

  The door creaked open. A dazzling blue eye peered out from its shadowy innards. Lucian suddenly straightened and offered his most charming smile, which was supposedly handsome by Corsanian standards. Marco snickered.

  “That is no way to treat a proper lady,” the oracle said.

  “My sincerest apologies, oracle.” Lucian bowed. “We were summoned here on short notice and I’m afraid I’m too exhausted to think rationally.”

  “Truly?”

  The door swung wide open. Marco’s jaw dropped. Instead of the hunched crone who had seen too many spell-casting accidents, a gorgeous young woman stepped out. Corsanian, of course, but sometimes beauty transcended the biological into the cultural. She flaunted a bathrobe that stretched against her hips and accentuated her curves. Her eyes smoldered like ice dug from the deepest glaciers. Lucian let out a pathetic little squeak that would’ve been funny in other circumstances if their situation wasn’t so dire.

  “See, if you looked like this since day one, Lucian would’ve been more respectful,” Marco said. He grinned and slung his arm around him. “Hey, wake up. Stop fooling around.”

  Lucian shook out of his dazed stupor and did his best to keep his eyes away from the oracle. “Why did you call for us?”

  She frowned. “Am I not allowed to talk to friends?”

  “A real friend wouldn’t have us climb over an hour,” Marco said.

  “That is fair. I found something of interest. Follow me. Mind the carpet when you enter. I haven’t yet finished scrubbing out all the stains.”

  She pivoted on her heels and walked back into her house. Marco went first, because he couldn’t trust Lucian not to trip from looking somewhere he definitely shouldn’t have.

  Marco’s nose burned and eyes watered from the harsh, chemical smell entrenched inside. The carpet mentioned was bleached white, though several stains still marked the corners where the cleaning chemicals hadn’t quite scrubbed it out. Lucian waved his hand, and a breeze spared them the worst of the caustic stench, blown out the doorway.

  “How do you live like this?” he whined. “That carpet must’ve been filthy.”

  “Off-grid living does come with its drawbacks, I’m afraid. Mind the floor, too.” The oracle waved half-heartedly at the grimy, sticky hardwood floor. Their boots stuck to it like wet bandages.

  Mercifully, the sofa was much more accommodating, dusted clean and hugging their weary, beaten bodies. Marco nestled his back against the plush cushions and sighed.

  “That’s much better,” he said. “What did you find?”

  The oracle gave a little trilling laugh. “Patience. Care for some tea?” She gestured at a pair of mugs and a teapot.

  Lucian was starting to nod like the trusting oaf he was until Marco smacked him in the arm. “We’re okay, thank you.”

  “Well, suit yourselves.” She gave a tiny shrug, a mannerism copied from him, and began pouring herself tea. “It’s quite good.”

  Despite his best efforts, Marco couldn’t help but glimpse out of the corner of his eye the way the oracle folded one leg over the other, bare skin exposed for all to see, without so much as a care. Not that he let it get to him, unlike Lucian. Beneath the taut skin and supple musculature was a centuries-old woman wizened beyond all reason. She’d have been put in a nursing home long ago before the Change.

  “Why do you look like that?” Marco said.

  “You don’t approve?” The oracle raised an eyebrow and puckered her lips.

  “No. And Lucian, stop staring at her!”

  He shook his head. “What? Sorry, I was looking at that interesting little spot on the chair leg.”

  The oracle frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, if you say so.”

  Reddish magic peeled from her scalp to her feet. She shed her persona like a snake shedding its skin, except only the youthful parts fell off and disintegrated into glittering particles. The wrinkled, grumpy old woman stared back, brilliant purple eyes peeking between folds of mottled skin. A toothless smile grinned at them. Her ears were long and pointy, pierced with jewels that danced and twinkled in the dusty light streaming through the windows.

  “Is this form better?” she said.

  “Thank you.” Marco relaxed and stretched his legs out. “What did you find?”

  “I thought the Everstone was a myth. Imagine my surprise when I found a historical artifact that the cult I stole from believed referenced the Everstone. They were adamant.” The oracle snapped her fingers. A gossamer thread popped into existence. Pocket dimensions. Awfully convenient, yet they used the type of magic Lucian lacked. She reached and pulled out a shriveled, rolled-up scroll.

  “How old is that thing?” Lucian said. His attention was now fixed on the historical little oddity.

  “Old enough for you to understand, Marco.” The oracle snapped her fingers again. Crimson threads gently unfurled the scroll. Inscribed in big, faded letters was English.

  “Is that an illusion?” Marco said.

  “No. It’s real,” Lucian said in a hushed whisper.

  The flyer was written in proper English. Pre-Change, before Spellar stole his language. From his people. Hands shaking, he clasped them together and pored over every word. Some were too faded to make out. Others suffered the test of time, bleeding into one another, or missing sections entirely.

  “It’s a recruitment flyer,” he said. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “They wanted to hire people.”

  Lucian leaned at the edge of his seat. He licked his lips. “Hire who? For what?”

  Marco slumped. He pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes and let gravity drag him down. “A cashier for some grocery store,” he said. He never felt more stupid in his life. Maybe there was no Everstone. Just a constant slap in the face every time they tried to find even a mention of it.

  “No, Marco. Do you think I would’ve found this if it didn’t reek of magic?” the oracle snapped.

  He dropped his hands. “I still don’t see it.”

  “They hid it well. Look closer. They said to notice what is missing, not what is there.”

  “That’s it?”

  “The dead can’t speak.” And that was that. Sometimes it was hard to forget that people did not live for centuries unless they were incredibly powerful. And ruthless. “Read it. Try to see if they lied.”

  So he did. Marco squinted and tried to make out any hidden shapes left by the faded sections. When that failed, he read line by line, paragraph by paragraph. Nothing.

  Until he noticed a trend. Individual letters missing from words. No, deliberately scrubbed away. He could still see the markings on the paper where somebody had scratched off letters individually. His mind automatically filled in the blanks for each word.

  “T,” he read, beginning from the top. “H-E-E-V-E-R-S-T-O-N-E. The Everstone.” He gasped. Quickly, he arranged each missing letter in order. “The Everstone is the only way. We left instructions at Midpoint, and, if you are willing to try, at the Merge Cave. Look for Bobby or SM.”

  That was it. A message delivered thousands of years into the future, where the world was Spellarian and everything was Spellarian.

  The oracle smugly sipped from her mug. “This information is free: Midpoint, now known as Edge, is the south-western capital city of Perfect. I only tell you this because it is likely any information left by the humans has long since been erased.”

  Marco held his head in his hands. “What about Merge Cave?”

  “That I do not know. I wish you luck in trying to find it.”

  He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. What mattered was that they finally had solid proof that the Everstone was real. Or it had been, once, and that it could actually be found. He didn’t care how hard it was. Months, years, it all meant the same to him. As long as he found it.

  Lucian held up a finger and clucked his tongue. “I think I’ve heard of it.”

  Marco homed in on him. “Where?”

  “School. It’s one of eighteen places in Irmire where the Change failed. I learned about this at school. It’s on the Corsanian mainland.”

  Marco shook his head. “The wild magic will kill us both.”

  “Spellar also maintains several military bases on the mainland. They have every bit of land monitored by the Beacon.” The oracle takes another sip from her mug. “What you plan to do after is beyond me. I will not offer any more help.”

  “I understand,” Marco said. A tough pill to swallow when the oracle provided the first solid proof that Marco’s memories were at least somewhat true. There was an Everstone. The Everstone. The key to fixing everything.

  Lucian nudged the edge of the carpet with his foot. It turned over. Rust was caked beneath. Sections cracked and fell on the floor. It couldn’t be, could it? But the evidence was right in front of them. Marco was no stranger to what blood looked like once it dried into that familiar stain.

  The oracle stood and extended her arms. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “Lucian!” he shouted, throwing himself to the ground.

  A gossamer thread formed where his shoulder had been seconds ago. There was no time to think. Marco reached into his boot and pulled out a throwing knife. One shot.

  But he had to jump again as the gossamer thread popped into existence where his leg was.

  “Lucian–”

  Marco’s words died in his throat. Out of nowhere, two armored, streamlined Spellarian soldiers pinned Lucian down. Blood leaked from his nose. He looked up at the oracle, who was toying with him, wearing a patient smile.

  “Did you truly think I would betray my nation?” She snapped her fingers. Marco dodged. The gossamer thread nipped at his pants. A small cross-section of fabric abruptly vanished. “The conditions are that you are worth much more alive. Lucian, on the other hand, is a traitor. Do you know what happens to traitors?”

  The oracle’s eyes turned snakelike. She summoned several crimson threads. They reached out like fingers, wrapping around Lucian’s neck.

  “This is what–”

  Marco threw the knife. Sure enough, his aim was still true. The blade flew straight into the oracle’s eye. Blade first. The threads broke. She wailed. A soldier rushed toward him, runes glowing on its armor, flames whirling around it.

  Marco used the last card in his deck. “Lucian, do the trick!”

  A blue sphere materialized, floating at the center of the room. The soldier braked to a stop, raising its arms. The second soldier reached to break Lucian’s neck, but he somersaulted away on blue magic, putting enough distance between them for Marco to recognize what came next.

  He grabbed onto a curtain and threw himself out the window. He didn’t look back at what would happen to Lucian. Nothing, probably. His own magic wouldn’t hurt him. It hadn’t last time, at least, when it blew up in their faces.

  Seconds later, the remaining windows shattered. The house shook. A muffled boom broke the sprinklers, and they began spraying torrents of water at the house. Smoke escaped through square-shaped holes on the roof. Pixelated shapes scorched through the outer walls.

  He gasped, lying on his back. Glass shards had sliced his arms and neck. The oracle’s pocket dimension didn’t just take a bit of fabric from his pants leg, but grazed his skin. His wound wept blood.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. They needed to get out fast before the Beacon alerted the nearest Spellarian outpost and they sent more soldiers after them.

  Lucian emerged through the fractured doorway, cloaked from head to toe in a shimmering blue veil. It retracted, and he staggered forward, coughing violently.

  “I got you,” Marco said, wincing as he put pressure on his wounded leg and held Lucian up. “We gotta get out.”

  “Nice throw,” he said. “I thought I was a goner.”

  “Nice reaction time. You got them good.”

  In the distance, sirens began wailing. Fuck. It was way worse than Marco expected. Together, they began trekking down the mountainous slope while the sirens wailed on and on. The nearest outpost was at the foothill, which was why they'd had to climb the slope every time. But that was not an option.

  While they continued downward toward the distant dense forest below, he looked over his shoulder at the city he was growing to hate more each passing day. At the thing keeping it all safe from the wild magic. He knew what the next target was.

  Unfortunately, destroying the Beacon was going to be hard.