Page 34 of Sundered By Fate

Eight

At least the demons were honest about their depravity.

Aric's eyes lingered on the polished mahogany paneling, the plush emerald carpets, the garish oil paintings crowding the walls of his assigned suite. He'd imagined he'd feel more at home surrounded by civilization's luxuries once more. But now he couldn't help comparing the decor to the pointed obsidian architecture of Malekith's domain—the unvarnished indulgence the demon lords wore so unapologetically.

It felt obscene now, feigning politeness while masking so much turmoil.

He'd faced his trials with Malekith, brimming with righteous rage and faith in his order. But he couldn't stand these smooth-tongued games—manipulations and subterfuge spinning out in silk-gloved hands. At least among the demons, the game was obvious from the start.

With a creak, he slipped out onto the narrow balcony overlooking a sea of rooftops. He sighed as a cool evening breeze feathered over him, soothing against his skin. The cityscape unfolded beyond, fractured by shafts of dying light: Astaria's spires and domes painted in violet hues.

Memories swept through him—the human realm he'd fought for suddenly so distant and foreign.

Now nothing more than shadows through gauze.

It had almost felt like a home to Aric, once.

Not that Aric had ever had a true conception of that word. The Silver Tower was not an orphanage, but his parents must have believed so, or at least hoped it, when they dumped him on the Tower's doorstep. Olaya told Aric often how hard she fought to keep him in the Tower in those days rather than letting the High Mages shuffle him off to one of the city's overworked, crowded orphanages; how she swore she could sense his potential gift for magic even as a young child. But she wasn't his mother, nor did she ever intend to be, and often, Aric was left to his own devices, exploring the Tower, and then the greater grounds around the Tower and the academies, and then the city of Astaria at large.

And yet becoming a proper apprentice, once he was of age, had made it fresh all over again. Seeing things through the eyes not just of a magic-touched boy, but of amage. How limitless it all had seemed! How breathtaking! The city bubbled and brimmed with spells and their potential. Magic just waiting to be grasped.

Aric and his fellow apprentices had always been ready to grasp it. Grasp first, and worry about the aftereffects later.

He remembered how the musty scent of parchment filled the air as Aric and Davin pored over ancient tomes in the Silver Tower library late one night. Soft light from magical lamps cast a gentle glow over their study, illuminating rows upon rows of scrolls and bound volumes stretching into shadowed alcoves.

"Demon conjuration rituals," Aric mused, brushing his sandy hair back as he leaned closer to Davin. "I'd always heard they were mostly theoretical. Didn't know we had an entire wing on it. I'm surprised the Pureblades haven't burned it."

"I'm sure it's of enough historical significance," Davin replied with a grin, his green eyes sparkling in the lamplight. "Secret archives and all that. But only for trusted apprentices." He tapped Aric's shoulder, sending a spark of static through him. "Guess that means we're doing something right."

The Tower's knowledge wasn't doled out without cause—but Davin had a way of pulling favors.

Aric offered a tight smile, willing himself not to notice the soft curve of Davin's lips as he spoke, or how the red curls fell across his forehead. Davin had that way about him—drawing people in, wrapping them around his little finger without meaning to.

At least, Aric was almost sure it was unintentional.

They bent together over a faded grimoire, the close space between them humming with potential. Aric could smell the faint spice of Davin's aftershave—clove and cedar, like autumn—and feel the heat of his skin where their arms brushed.

If he leaned in just a little closer . . .

He shook off the thought. Now wasn't the time to get distracted, not when they'd finally found what they'd been searching for—an entry on demonic wards from centuries ago. But while he read through it, a part of him couldn't help stealing glances at Davin, wondering if his cheeks were flushed from the library's stifling warmth or something else entirely.

"Looks like this is what we needed," Davin said at last, flashing Aric one of those heart-stopping smiles. "Thanks for staying late with me."

Aric swallowed hard, returning the smile despite himself. "Anytime."

As they packed up their things and headed for the Tower's sleeping quarters, Aric felt like he was walking on air, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Whatever happened next, at least they'd have this moment—them and the stars above Astaria that night.

Another day, another memory, indelibly wound around the Silver Tower and through Astaria's streets.

A cool autumn breeze swept through the Silver Tower's training yard, rustling the leaves of the ancient oak tree that stood sentinel at one corner. Aric and Davin faced each other in the center of the yard, their staves held at the ready. The other apprentices had long since left, the fading light of dusk casting a warm glow over the courtyard.

"Ready, Solarian?" Davin called, his voice a playful lilt that sent a shiver coursing through Aric.

"Try not to cry when I win this time, Lyantros." Aric smirked, feeling a burst of energy race through him as he met Davin's emerald eyes.

In an instant, they moved as one, their staves spinning and striking in perfect harmony. Sparks flew from the tips as they channeled their magic into each blow—Aric's golden flames clashing with Davin's sapphire currents in a dazzling display. Their bodies moved in tandem, an unspoken rhythm guiding their steps.

With a swift twist, Davin slipped past Aric's guard and brought his staff down in an arc of lightning. But Aric was ready, raising his own staff to intercept and forcing the spell into the ground with a shower of sparks.

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