Sorcerer's Shadow

The following morning, I teleported back, and to my surprise, no one mentioned what I presumed was a massive slip-up. Over the next months, I learned it hadn't really been such a blunder. Apparently, it was customary to send the executioner out of town post-mission, especially during wartime. I also discovered that Torchtown was a bit of a trope, often referred to as Killertown. I decided never to return.

However, something peculiar struck me immediately and still baffles me. My boss was aware that I had ended the man's life, and Thorne likely had his suspicions, but I don't think many others had a clue. So, why did everyone start treating me differently?

No, it wasn't anything grand, just the way my coworkers looked at me. It was as if I had transformed into someone else, someone deserving of respect, someone to be wary of.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not grumbling; it felt incredible. But it left me puzzled then, and it continues to do so. I wonder whether word got around, or if my demeanor subtly shifted. Probably a bit of both.

You know what was even more peculiar? As I encountered other enforcers working for various factions in the enigmatic realm of the Vorgan, occasionally I'd look at one and instinctively think, "That one's done the 'work.'" I couldn't fathom how I knew, and I can't vouch for my accuracy, but I felt it. More often than not, the individual would return my glance and offer a slight nod, seemingly recognizing something in me as well.

At seventeen, I was a human in the Imperion Empire, and I'd weathered a fair share of mistreatment over the years. Now, I was no longer an "Terran," nor an Imperion or even a Vorgan. Now, I was someone who could end a life with detached coldness, then nonchalantly spend the reward, immune to further nonsense. A pleasant sentiment, for as long as it endured.

* * * *

As I strolled through the Halls, I wondered if dragons were ever brought here for Afterlife. Not only were the doors ample enough for one, but the halls also seemed to accommodate their massive form. Either way, the vastness made me feel rather insignificant, probably the intended effect.

Intended effect?

"Opal, do you know who built this place?" I asked.

"You're asking me, boss? I've no idea. The gods, I presume."

"And if only I knew what that entailed, I'd be set."

"Did you notice there's no ornamentation? Absolutely none."

"You're right, Opal. But, what kind of ambiance would you choose if you were tasked with adorning this place?"

"Fair point."

The place was nearly deserted, save a few figures in purple robes moving about, all with the same vacant stare. Their sight made my stomach churn. I didn't notice any side corridors or doors, but I wasn't exactly on high alert. The place was massive and awe-inspiring. What more can I say?

"Good day," a voice greeted us from behind. We turned to find a male Imperion adorned in the resplendent attire of a Dragonlord Wizard, complete with glossy black and silver apparel and a staff that towered over him. His smile held a hint of irony as he studied Drevolan. I looked over at my companion and noticed his widened eyes. I'd seen Drevolan soaked, embarrassed, and caught off guard. If I could just see him scared, my life would indeed be complete.

I responded, "Are you sure it's day?"

He shifted his sarcastic gaze towards me, bestowing upon me the harshest glare I've ever had to endure. Several witty retorts bubbled up, but for once, I found myself unable to voice them. This silence may have saved my life.

Drevolan managed to break the silence. "I honor you, Lord Verill. I was under the impression you were still among the living. It saddens me to learn—"

Verill interrupted him with a scoff. "Time moves differently here. Perhaps when you departed, I hadn't yet...." He frowned, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Drevolan gestured towards the encompassing wall. "Do you reside within this structure, Lord?"

"No, I merely conduct my studies here."

"Studies?" contemporary romance

"I assume you wouldn't grasp the notion."

By now, I had regained enough composure to enjoy someone showing disdain towards Drevolan. Drevolan, however, wasn't as amused. He stood tall and stated, "My lord, if I have somehow offended you—"

"Your choice of travel companions leaves much to be desired."

Before Drevolan could respond, I interjected, "I'm not thrilled about it either, but—"

"Don't utter a word in my presence," Verill commanded.

As he spoke, I found myself unable to; it felt as if my mouth was stuffed with a large fruit, and I realized I couldn't breathe. I hadn't believed magic was possible here. Our Siberyn guide took a step forward, but just then, I found my breath returning. Verill uttered "Vorgan" as if it were an insult. He then spat on the ground in front of me and stormed off.

Once he was out of sight, I took a few deep breaths and joked, "And here I thought he disliked me because I'm a Terran."

Drevolan was left without a clever comeback. Our guide signaled subtly with his head, indicating we should follow him. So, we did.

A few minutes later, we reached a grand square entrance where the hallway concluded. Our guide halted outside it, signaling us to continue. We bowed to him and stepped into an entirely different realm.

* * * *

After Lynn's demise and the events that followed, my learning curve was a gradual one. I trained in magic, hoping to trace someone's teleportation path, but this proved more challenging than anticipated.

Opal was no longer my decoy, but his skills in other areas improved, such as monitoring a target for me and ensuring a location was clear of Fenghuang Guards or other potential threats.

The conflict between Moros and Nichols lingered for several months. Everyone took precautions and avoided venturing out alone. This period served as a learning experience. I "worked" on several more assignments, although only one was directly related to the war, as far as I know.

done.co