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Chapter Text

Prism is 12 years old. Her mother is dead. They said it was a sudden illness, quick and painless, nothing to be done.
The scrawny, undernourished girl, laden with bitter tragedies heavier than her young shoulders should know, walks through the Shadowfell alone until the bottoms of her feet are red and sore. She could have stayed in Obleris, the town she grew up in, but there are too many memories there, threatening to invade her mind and overwhelm her thoughts, pushing their way in uninvited like roots forcing their way through the cracks between paved cobblestones. Their cramped, ramshackle house, too small really to fit the two of them, but they made it work. The blackened fireplace that perpetually smelled of ash and smoke, that kept them warm and cosy in the harsh winter months. The shoddy mantlepiece that proudly displayed their few precious keepsakes: a picture of her father in a cracked glass frame, a pretty ornament gifted to Prism by her childhood friend, a vase Prism had found smashed and discarded, mended and painted with swirls of midnight blue and bright periwinkle. The creaky bed that she and her mother shared, cuddling close when the cold wind rattled through the cracks in the door, whistling through the crumbling chimney.

Prism clenches her eyes shut, tears threatening to flow down her cheeks. She can’t go back. That period of her life is over. It’s time to make a new life for herself. Alone…

The Shadow Realm is a dark and desolate place, the sky a perpetual stormy grey, thick clouds hanging overhead, gloomy and oppressive. What few plants grow there are small and withered, with nothing in the barren soil to provide nutrition. Something similar could be said for the people who lived there too, the lack of sunlight and a good diet resulting in them being abnormally pale and gaunt. Through the murky darkness of the Shadow Realm, one such figure walks unaccompanied.

Prism pulls her hood up over her soot-black hair to guard against the cold wind, pointed ears peeking out. This place is all she’s ever known. Could she really make a life for herself somewhere else? Surely anywhere is better than this.

After walking for what seems like forever, Prism spots something in the distance that stands out in the bare, unforgiving landscape she is used to. It appears to be some sort of temple, old and in ruins after centuries of disuse. Ruins are common in the Shadowfell, but there is something different about these. The air here is more still, more calm. Grand stone structures loom over her, imposing monuments that reach so high into the sky that Prism has to crane her neck to see where they end. As she makes her way through the large doorway at the temple’s entrance, awe-inspired, she notices how quiet it is, eerily so – the only sounds coming from her own footsteps and the faint trickling of water. No noise of roaring wind rushing past her ears, no cawing of angry birds, no yowls from animals protecting their territory. Silence.

What is this place? Prism looks around in wonder at the grandiose statues and water features, never having seen anything like it before. Standing still in the centre of the humungous cavern-like space, she gazes at the crumbling grey stones, older than she could even begin to comprehend, the long twisted chains of ivy that drape delicately over the rocks, a tumbling mass of dark green, and the water that cascades down as a pretty waterfall into a calm, shimmering blue pool at her feet.

She scoops some water into her palms and drinks, throat dry from walking all day. Marble statues depicting some sort of large birds are reflected in the gleaming water. Prism notices that the silence, at first spooky and unsettling, now feels peaceful and reverent as she allows herself to relax into a rare moment of calm. She closes her eyes and releases all the built up tension and negative thoughts that cloud her mind. She feels her mind start to float away, disconnected from her body, untethered and free like the water that flows in a continuous stream from up above.

She isn’t sure how long she stands there, completely lost in a meditative state, feeling at peace for the first time in ages. When she comes back to herself, she finds the light has changed, the sky outside now an inky black, night having crept in stealthily while she wasn’t paying attention. Suddenly, torches adorning the stone walls burst in to flame, filling the space with a warm amber glow. Prism had suspected there was magic here.

The lighting casts flickering shadows on the walls, illuminating details Prism hadn’t seen before, as well as a small dark shape in the corner of the room. Prism heads over to investigate, light footsteps echoing in the large cavernous space, and she finds herself feeling self-conscious, even though she is the only one here. As she gets closer, the shape reveals itself to be a small bird, some sort of crow, she thinks. It’s barely moving, chest moving up and down weakly, each breath seeming a struggle.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Prism carefully scoops the bird into her arms and carries it over to the glistening pool, lowering its head so it can take a drink. She gently strokes its smooth black feathers as it takes a couple of hesitant mouthfuls. It takes another few weak breaths before going still.
“No, no, no, don’t give up!” Desperation seeps into Prism’s voice as the bird shows no sign of movement. “I can’t cope with any more death today.”
Moments pass. Still no movement.

Prism bows her head, squeezing her eyes closed, and croaks out a quiet, “Please.”
Images flash through her head: her mother feverish in bed, forehead clammy and soaked in sweat. Prism running to the doctor’s house, banging on the door and yelling for him to hurry. Holding her mother’s hand as her breathing became shallower and shallower. Prism was helpless to save her. All she could do was sit there, hold her hand, pray to whichever god might be listening, hoping for a miracle. No such miracle came.

Tears trickle down Prism’s face as she sits in the temple, cradling the bird in her arms. She couldn’t save her mother, so couldn’t she save this one little bird? She prays again, hoping someone will hear her plea.
“This temple was dedicated to a god, right? So someone must be there, listening? Please, if you have an ounce of goodness in your heart, help me.”
A minute passes. Then another. Prism’s shoulders slump, defeated. But then, just as she thinks all hope is lost, a quiver. The bird twitches its beak, gives its feathers a little shake. Prism gasps, her mouth stretching into a disbelieving grin. She closes her eyes and whispers, “Thank you.”

Once the adrenaline has faded, curiosity overtakes Prism once more. Who was this temple dedicated to? Were they the one that helped save the little bird? Looking around the room, Prism spies some writing she hadn’t noticed earlier, without the torch light to illuminate it. The text is ancient, inscribed in to the rock in tall, elegant script. Although Prism’s knowledge of languages is fairly limited, she recognises enough of the characters from her times sneaking a look at old scrolls in the bookkeeper’s office to work out the gist of the text. She had never had the bravery to steal any of the scrolls, but she had a passion for reading, as well a thirst for new information, so breaking in to the bookkeeper’s office had been a favourite pastime of hers, sneaking in under the cover of darkness, shushing her friend’s giggles as they went on the hunt for interesting reading material.

Looking at the engraved letters, she works out that the temple is dedicated to the Matron of Ravens. Of course. Prism had never taken much interest in religion before, her mother didn’t worship any god, so Prism had never really thought about her views on the whole subject. The bird, seemingly now fully recovered, hopped on to her shoulder.
“I guess that would make you a raven then, little one? Where are all your friends? You’re so small, you must have not been eating well.” If the matron had been the one to save the raven, she must not be all bad, although Prism supposes she would have a particular affinity towards her chosen birds and naturally want to protect them.

“What am I going to do now?” Prism laments, “I have barely enough provisions to last me a day, and the food around here is clearly scarce for you to end up that scrawny,” She sits on the cool floor, despair threatening to overcome her, “I wish you were here mother, I need you.” The raven caws in response, thinking Prism is talking to it.
“I wasn’t talking to you, silly. Although, you sound a bit like my mother, when she’s nagging. She would screech just like a parrot: ‘Prism, don’t touch that! Prism, don’t eat strange plants! Prism, don’t use magic to cheat in exams!’” The raven caws again, mimicking Prism’s tone. Prism giggles and stands up, gathering her few belongings.
“That settles it then,” she smiles, “Come along, Mother.”

Chapter Text

Three hours later, Mother is gone. Prism doesn’t know what she expected, of course the raven wasn’t going to hang around. Why would it? It didn’t owe her anything, it was healthy and free, and surely had better things to be doing than hanging around with a depressed preteen elf.
Her stomach growls angrily. The little food she’d brought with her hadn’t lasted long, and she has no idea where she is going to find more. The books she’d loved as a child hadn’t exactly covered the topic of scavenging for food in the empty plains of the Shadowfell.
She sighs and continues walking, keeping her eyes open for any sign of wildlife in the vast expanse lying in front of her.

Eventually, she stops for a rest, drinking up the cool, refreshing water she filled her canteen up with at the temple. She sits quietly for a while, contemplating her next movements, before feeling a thump on her shoulder. Mother!
“You came back!” Prism exclaims, surprised and delighted with this turn of events. Mother drops something on to Prism’s lap and crows happily, seemingly pleased with herself. Prism looks down and sees an ugly rat-like creature lying dead on her lap. She picks it up gingerly by the tail and examines it, grimacing. She looks at the rat, then at Mother, who is preening herself, content after her meal of delicious dead rodent. Prism shrugs her shoulders in resignation; Meat’s meat, and she can’t afford to be fussy.

She walks for hours before finally collapsing to the ground, body aching. Where is she even going? She has no plan, no destination, no one to ask for help. Mountains loom in the distance, sharp peaks rising up into the dark sky like daggers piercing through the clouds. Their pointed crests interrupt the endless nothingness, a break from the infinite flatness that stretches as far as the eye can see. Prism supposes they’re a better place than any to head for, at the very least there must be rivers of fresh water flowing down from the peaks, and the wet conditions might mean plants and wildlife she could forage.

Above her head, storm clouds start to coalesce, sombre grey sky echoing her gloomy mood. The wind picks up, and she can hear the distant rumble of thunder. Before long, the storm is upon the two of them, rain lashing down and a howling gale pushing against her, slowing her down as if an angry god was trying to halt her progress.
She pulls her cloak closer around her, protecting Mother under the swaths of fabric, and scans her surroundings for some sort of shelter. Within minutes, she is soaked to the bone, teeth chattering as she walks onwards through the storm.

Each step a chore, Prism's feet drag along slowly until she stumbles and falls to the ground. Kneeling in the mud, palms pressed into the dirt, Prism wills herself not to cry. She needs to be strong, she can’t give up now.
“Oh dear, you poor darling,” A stranger’s voice interrupts her thoughts, the first person she’s encountered since starting her journey, “Look at you, you’re soaked through.”
The source of the voice approaches through the lashing rain, and she sees a tiefling woman with deep crimson skin, dressed in beautiful fabrics, gold charms adorning her horns, “Come, take shelter inside.”

The woman gestures to a small stone cottage that Prism swears wasn’t there a moment ago, but with sopping wet hair covering her eyes it’s no wonder she missed it. Delicious scents of freshly baked pies and pastries waft through the open doorway and her stomach rumbles eagerly. Against her better judgement, she makes towards it. Her mother told her to never enter a stranger’s home, but the woman seems so kind, and the rain is so bitterly cold. Plus, her colourful skin and twisted horns remind Prism of her childhood friend, Lycel, who she used to spend most evenings with, running through the streets of Obleris, causing havoc and sneaking into places they definitely shouldn’t be sneaking into.

She finds herself gravitating inside, mind overwhelmed with thoughts of a warm fire and yummy pastries. The tiefling shuts the door behind them and smiles warmly.
“There you are dear, take a seat by the fire.”
Prism obeys, sinking into the comfy cushions and gratefully accepting the warm drink offered to her. As she finishes her drink, the heat from the dancing flames warming her aching bones, she finds herself drifting away, falling deeper and deeper into a lovely restful sleep.
Just before her eyes flutter closed, out of the corner of her eye she sees the woman’s shadow on the opposite wall, cast by the flickering fire, and it seems off, not that of a tiefling woman at all but something larger – a terrifying beast with elongated horns and sharp claws. Too late, Prism realises something is wrong.

She tries to drag herself out of her slumber, forcing her eyes open as they droop down in protest, and sees the woman – monster – whatever she is reach out long, gnarly claws, face twisted into a horrifying grin, no evidence of the earlier kindness remaining. The monster growls, a horrible wet sound from deep in its chest, and lunges towards the young girl, fangs bared and ready.
Prism lurches unsteadily towards the door. She won’t make it.
Suddenly she hears the flapping of wings, and watches Mother swoop towards the beast, talons outstretched. The raven squarks furiously as she sinks her talons into the monsters eyes, cutting up its face and blinding it. The creature roars in anger, arms thrashing as it tries to get the bird off. At last, Prism reaches the door, thrusting it open and rushing through it, calling for Mother as she goes. The two of them make it out of the hut, and Prism runs as fast as she can, not stopping until she’s certain she has put enough distance between them and the horrifying beast. Finding a damp, musty cave to take shelter in, she finally collapses, falling immediately in to a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she awakes, the storm has subsided, the sky now a murky grey, small rays of sunlight pushing weakly through the clouds. Prism rubs her eyes, wondering how long she’s been asleep for. As she reflects on the events of yesterday, she could kick herself. Stupid Prism, always so gullible, always so naïve. That’s what people said about her, that she was far too trusting for her own good. Not a good trait to possess in the Shadow Realm.
“Oh mother, what am I going to do?” she chokes out, “I can’t do this alone.”

Since Prism’s frightening encounter, she has decided to progress extra cautiously, covering her tracks and trying to travel as stealthily as possible. She’s losing weight, she can tell, her ribs visibly protruding under her pale, ghostly skin. After a week of travel through the barren landscape, the jagged mountains in the distance never seeming to get closer, she’s close to giving up completely. Even if she reaches the mountains like she had planned, that isn’t to say she’ll find anything there.

One night, unable to think of anything else to do, Prism kneels, closes her eyes, and for the third time in her life, she prays. Part of her feels ridiculous for doing so, after all, nobody answered her prayer to save her mother. But the Matron did save the raven, didn’t she? So maybe she would help this time too.
“Matron of Ravens, if you’re there…please help. I’m not asking for a miracle this time, just a sign, a sign that I’m on the right path.” She opens one eye, wondering if something will happen. Nothing.
She sighs, lies down, knees tucked to her chest, and goes to sleep.

When Prism spots a tent in the distance early next morning, she wonders if her prayer has been answered. As she creeps towards it, Mother, feeling her nervous energy, stays perched quietly on her shoulder rather than flying overhead, scouting for prey like usual. Being careful not to make a sound, Prism peeks out from behind a large boulder, holding her breath when she sees someone emerge from the tent.
The man, a human perhaps in his late 50s, is dressed in smart, pristine clothing, not the type of ragged garb Prism is used to seeing. In fact, everything about the man is strange: His skin has a warm glow to it, unlike the pasty, sallow complexions usually seen on people in the Shadow Realm, and his belly is plump and well-fed. It can’t be…is this man…from the Material Plane?

Prism watches the man intently, trying to make sense of what she is seeing. She has heard stories of the Material Plane, read about it in books, but had always thought of it as a made-up fantasy – a bedtime story told to kids. The whole thing seemed truly far-fetched: a place where the sun shines so bright it can burn people’s skin, lush vegetation can grow so rapidly it overtakes the landscape, and all sorts of animals thrive, with more than enough food to go round. But now, seeing this man in front of her, Prism starts to wonder if it is in fact all true.

She watches as the man removes a small vial from the pocket of his waistcoat and uncorks it, before bending down and scooping up some soil. He stands up again with the vial, now full, and holds it up to examine it, shaking it slightly. He scratches his beard thoughtfully before heading back inside the tent.
Prism stays hidden behind the rock, deciding to stay and observe this stranger, try and learn more about why he is here, in the Shadowfell of all places. Maybe she could take advantage of this encounter, discover a way of traveling between realms. At the very least, she might be able to sneak in and steal some food while he’s distracted.
She makes herself comfortable in her hiding place, ruffles Mother’s feathers, and prepares for a stakeout.

A couple of hours pass before the man reappears, and Prism almost dozes off a couple of times. She keeps herself occupied by throwing chunks of cooked rat high in the air for Mother to catch, swooping in quick as a flash before it can hit the ground.
This time the man is armed with a small container, which he opens, pulling something out. Suddenly, Prism hears a noise by her left shoulder, and jumps, covering her hand over her mouth to stop herself from making a sound. Quickly, she relaxes again as she realises it is only a rat scuffling about in search of food. The creature makes its way around the rock towards where the man is stood, and on noticing its approach, he tosses what look to be some small berries towards it. The rat sniffs them inquisitively for a second before running away again. A quill appears in the stranger’s hand and he pulls out a battered notebook and jots something down.

Over the course of the afternoon, he repeats this experiment several times with different types of food, recording the results each time. Prism wonders what could be so interesting about the dietary habits of a rat, but the man seems fascinated by their behaviour.
Eventually, he heads inside once more, and Prism attempts to organise her thoughts based on what she has witnessed.
Conclusion Number One: The man isn’t from the Shadow Realm. Prism is certain of this one.
Conclusion Number Two: He is carrying out some sort of research, cataloguing the plants and animals he discovers. Maybe he was sent here, as some sort of research expedition?

She wonders if he gets to travel to all sorts of foreign places, performing investigations and learning new things. She expects he has seen things she could only dream of. Her mind starts to wander, imagining herself in that life – roaming free, exploring new lands, on an endless pursuit of knowledge. Prism is surprised when she feels a pang of jealousy, a sour feeling starting in her chest that grows and grows the more she dwells on it. She wants that life. She wants it so bad it the feeling threatens to consume her, an unstoppable longing eating her up from the inside.
She comes to a decision. Whatever it takes, whatever she must do to get there – she is going to get that life. And her first step is getting out of the Shadow Realm.

Chapter Text

For the next day and a half, Prism observes the man, lurking in the shadows unseen. She watches as he uses strange contraptions to take measurements of the soil, always writing down his findings in his notebook. She finds herself entranced by his work, wondering what he has learnt from all his experiments.
She is certain now that she wants to pursue a life of discovery, thoughts of endless travel and exploration cemented firmly in her mind. She just needs to find an opening, a moment that she can grasp and take advantage of, twisting and bending to her own will.

The man is struggling to get his fire going, unused to the damp, rotten wood of the Shadow Realm. He sighs and mutters to himself as the weak flame flickers out once more. This is her chance.
Prism starts moving before her brain can fully grasp the reality of what she is doing. She walks briskly over to the pile of wood, waves her hand over it, and watches it burst into flame. She grins, proud of herself. It had taken her forever to master that one.
The man jumps back slightly in surprise, both at Prism’s sudden appearance and at how she lit the fire with such ease. He stares at the crackling logs, eyes wide, then at Prism.

“I…hadn’t realised there was anyone living around here.” He says finally.
“Oh, I’m not from the area,” she replies, “Just passing through. My name’s Prism.”
“Friedvik. Friedvik Greystone. Do your parents know you’re out here on your own?”
“My parents are dead. It’s just me now.”
Friedvik frowns, brows knotted, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s alright. I have Mother for company.”
Friedvik’s frown deepens, confused by this strange young girl who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere, lighting his fire as if it was nothing. Mother gives her wings a little shake, and squarks from her position perched on Prism’s shoulder.
“Well then…would you like to come inside for some tea?”

Prism hesitates, uncertain after having her trust broken before. But she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. She would be prepared this time, keep her guard up, always stay one step ahead. The minute the man proved the slightest bit untrustworthy, she would leave.
She eventually nods, knowing she needs this man, and his resources, more than he needs her. If not as someone to trust, someone to take advantage of: nosy around his tent, pocket a few of his provisions. It’s the best plan – the only plan, really – she has.
Prism enters the tent.

Over the course of a week or so, Prism learns more than she has in her previous twelve years put together. Friedvik, she discovers, works for something called the ‘Cobalt Soul’ – a group of researchers and scholars who aim to discover new knowledge about Exandria and worlds beyond, preserving information for the generations to come. She marvels at his discoveries, poring over his many books and parchments, reading fervently until her eyes ache. Friedvik is thrilled, stating, “I’ve never had anyone take such an interest in my work before.”

The inside of his tent alone causes Prism to gaze in awe: old books and yellowing parchments are stacked in towering piles almost up to the ceiling, jars and beakers of miscellaneous substances clutter the old wooden desk, and all sorts of scribbled notes and ideas clutter the space, written in elegant, looping font. There is more knowledge in this one tent than in all of the bookkeeper’s stash, and this is just from one researcher in the Cobalt Soul. Prism aches to see the rest of the organization’s archives; she bets she could spend hours reading their many manuscripts and documents and barely scratch the surface.

What Prism is most excited about, is that Friedvik can do magic. One evening, as they sit around the fire, he grins and beckons her closer. She watches as he produces an image in his palm of a mighty palace, with glistening white towers and pointed steeples.
“This is the palace in Emon, where I’m from. It’s where all the important people meet and discuss matters of the city.”
Prism eyes light up – impressed by the grandiose structure, as well as the spell that can produce such illusions. She asks if he would be able to teach her to create images like that. Friedvik smiles, and agrees.

Prism uses every opportunity she can to impress the mage, whether it be organizing his many notes, or showing him the limited range of spells she knows. She spent many hours practicing magic as a child, copying down any runes and glyphs she saw in books, painstakingly drawing them again and again, trying to perfect them. It had been hard work, but it had paid off when she had finally been able to light the small snub of candle she had kept on her bedside table.

When Friedvik asks Prism where she had learnt her magic, she lies and says her mother had taught her. He wasn’t exactly going to welcome her in with open arms if he knew her past of breaking into the offices of educated men such as himself. Past criminal deeds aside, he was impressed by her performance.
“For one as small as yourself to be able to light a fire with such ease, it is remarkable to see!” He applauds Prism as she snuffs out the fire with a puff of wind, “You must only be, what, ten? Such skill for one so young.”
“I’m twelve, actually.” Prism responds, shuffling to sit more upright in her chair.

One afternoon, the pair of them stand outside the tent, watching as three rats poke their noses around in search of food.
“Fascinating creatures,” Friedvik observes, “They love corn nuts, you know. Unfortunately they don’t stand still long enough for me to capture one for a closer inspection.”
Prism looks up at the older man, an idea forming in her head, “I can catch one for you.”
“Oh, yes? And how would you do that?”
She smiles, mischievously, “A good magician never reveals her secrets.”
“Very well.” Friedvik smiles back, his eyes twinkling.

When Prism returns later that evening with two grey rats, she is met by a surprised but pleased Friedvik.
“Goodness, my girl. However did you manage that?” Prism shrugs in response, and when Friedvik disappears inside to fetch a cage to keep the rats in, she scratches the top of her raven’s head and whispers, “Thanks, Mother.”
Friedvik agrees to teach Prism a spell as a reward for catching the rats, and she spends the rest of the evening watching Friedvik as he mutters incantations and copying his movements, until eventually she is able to produce a very small and faint flickering image of Mother in her palm.

Prism has enjoyed Friedvik’s company, proving herself a useful assistant to the mage, accepting the free food and shelter gratefully, as well as the education that comes with it. Although on the surface Prism is happier than she has been in a long time, there is a slight niggling sensation in the back of her mind.
Can it truly be this simple? The man seems nice, sure, but he must want something from Prism – he can’t just be putting her up out of the goodness of his heart. She thinks back on the tiefling woman who showed her kindness and hospitality at first, before revealing her true colours.

When Prism has a moment alone, she decides to reach out to the Matron of Ravens once more.
“Matron, if you’re listening, please tell me – am I doing the right thing? Should I trust this man? He talks of such wonderful things: glorious palaces and shimmering seas, marvels I can only dream of. I want to believe him, but…how do I know he’s being sincere?”
At that moment, Friedvik emerges from the tent and Prism hastily returns to her task, using a complicated device to take measurements of the air temperature and acidity. A single black feather falls from the sky and lands at Friedvik’s feet. He picks it up, stroking it lightly, feeling its silky texture.
“Lovely feather. Is it Mother’s?”
Prism looks at the feather as Friedvik tucks it behind his ear. It is longer than Mother’s, and more of an midnight blue colour, rather than Mother’s inky black. She has her answer.
“Must be,” she replies.

After two weeks of endless tasks and busywork, helping Friedvik with his research during the day, and furiously studying his endless tomes and practising her magic late in to the night, the mage sits down next to her, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I’m about finished with my work here,” he explains, “I’ve learnt so much about the differences between here and the Material Plane, it really is fascinating when you compare the soil nutrients, not to mention the sulphur dioxide content in the air…”
Friedvik stops, realising he has gone off on a tangent, “Anyway, I’m returning to Exandria at first light. Definitely time I saw the sun again!”
Prism’s face falls. She knew this time was coming, she’d allowed herself to get a little too comfortable here, fall into a familiar routine.
“I guess I’ll be off then,” she mutters, staring at the floor.
“Well…unless, you wanted to come with me?”
Prism looks up at the mage sharply. She must have misheard.
“It is quite irregular, you must understand, taking on an apprentice as young as yourself. But you have demonstrated great promise, and I think you could prove to be quite the talented wizard one day, if you keep up with your studies. It seems a bit of a waste for you to stay here and wither away.”
Prism can’t believe what she’s hearing. All she’s ever wanted, all she’s been dreaming about, being offered to her on a silver platter, tied up in a nice neat bow. All she has to do is say yes.
Without a second thought, she throws herself at the man, hugging him tightly. Friedvik coughs, embarrassed, but returns the hug.
“Erm, quite,” he mumbles, cheeks tinged pink when Prism finally lets go, “Off to bed with you now, early start in the morning.”

Prism doesn’t sleep a wink, she’s far too excited – her head spinning with thoughts of going to the Material Plane. When Friedvik comes to wake her at dawn, she’s exhausted, but brimming with energy nonetheless. She watches Friedvik pack up, somehow fitting his many stacks of books into one small backpack – she wonders if it is bigger on the inside – and with a flick of his wrist the tent folds itself into a nice neat pile.
“Right then, ready to go?”
Prism nods silently, too nervous to form a coherent sentence. Would Exandria be as amazing as she imagined? Would she be able to become a powerful wizard, traveling all over the globe, making discoveries? Would she finally feel like she belonged? All these unknowns buzz round her mind, a cacophony of questions.

Friedvik takes out a long staff, carved out of a beautiful dark wood, a fist sized ruby glistening at the top. He starts to draw in the dirt with it, an intricate glyph so complex that Prism gets dizzy trying to follow his movements. Finally, he finishes the sigil, and thumps his staff down.
As soon as the staff makes contact with the ground, a shimmering portal appears in the centre of the sigil, and Prism gapes, mouth open.
Friedvik smiles down at the girl, nods, then walks through the portal. Prism watches him go, takes one last look around the place she had called home, takes a deep breath, and follows.

Chapter Text

Prism never met her father, he died when she was young. It’s not like she misses him, really, she didn’t even know him. But still she aches when she thinks about what could have been: long days of playing games outside, cosy evenings telling stories by the fire, warm hugs and two loving parents.
Unanswered questions swarm round her brain. What was he like? Does she take after him? How did his face crinkle when he laughed? Prism could read every book in the world, learn about exotic plants and faraway lands, but still this knowledge would be out of reach. Her mother didn’t like to talk about him much, it made her too sad, and her face would cloud over, a solemn expression full of grief.
She wonders if he would be proud of her now, stepping through the portal into Emon, the Material Plane. Finally. She was here, in Exandria.

Emon immediately takes her breath away – a dazzling city with bustling streets and more people than she has ever seen together in one place. She has never seen a sky so bright, a beautiful expanse of blue, the sun shining so strongly she has to shield her eyes for fear of going blind. The winding roads are filled with so many sights and sounds she starts to feel overwhelmed as Friedvik guides her through the throngs of people.
A maze of interconnected canals wind their way through the city, boats making their way across town ferrying cargo and passengers alike. Towering walls divide the different districts, guards patrolling the top of them, making sure everything is in check. She wonders how anyone finds their way around such a big place.

Friedvik escorts her to the edge of a lively market, where he tells her to stay put while he goes to enrol her into school.
“But I thought I’d be training with you?”
“I’ll teach you as much as I can in my spare time, but I’ll have so much work to do cataloguing all this research. And you really ought to be around people your own age, anyway.”
Prism tries not to let her disappointment show. She had been enjoying her private lessons with Friedvik, and was looking forward to helping him with his research. Not to mention the prospect of going to a school with a bunch of Exandrians who had been studying magic their whole lives and would likely judge Prism for her lack of knowledge frankly terrified her.

As Prism waits, still squinting at the unfamiliar brightness of the realm, she takes a look at the market stalls which are full of colourful clothes and delicious foods that make her mouth water. She navigates her way through the stalls, dodging out of the way of stacked carts as she goes, looking at each store in turn. One vendor is selling fabrics, great swaths of pretty pinks and emerald greens. Another sells jewellery, glistening gold chains and sparkling silver pendants, swinging gently in the breeze.

A fruit seller spies Prism exploring the stalls and calls out to her.
“Alright there, lass? Whatchu doin’ out here by yourself?”
“Just waiting for someone,” Prism replies, eyeing up the juicy fruit piled high on the vendor’s stall.
“Well, you take care of yourself, you get all sorts around these parts.” The fruit seller winks at Prism, tossing her a succulent, ripe plum which she catches, taking a big bite. She is rewarded with an explosion of sweetness on her tongue, and smiles, closing her eyes to savour the taste.
It’s about this time that Friedvik returns, an official looking scroll in his hand.
“Right then girl, ready to start school?”

“Our first lesson today will be to create a minor illusion. Everybody gather round and watch me.”
There are few other elves in Prism’s class, and certainly no other shadow elves, with the majority of the class being human, and upper-class humans at that. Prism self-consciously tries to tuck her ears, tips singed pink from the vicious sun, under her sleek black hair, and sighs inwardly when they pop straight back out again.
The other kids know each other already, having gone to school together all their lives, and quickly divvy up into their respective friend groups, chattering excitedly as the class begins, leaving Prism to stand awkwardly by herself in the corner of the room.
A small blessing comes from the fact that the first spell they are working on is the illusion charm, something she has been working steadfastly on over the past week, and is pretty proud of the result.
The rest of the class end up gaping at her as she creates a beautiful image of a red apple with ease, looking so real you could almost take a bite, their own apples shaky and translucent.

Prism soon gets used to her new routine, spending her days at school attending classes on magic, science, Exandrian history, and culture and languages. She makes slower progress than her classmates, having only ever studied in a tiny, underfunded school in the Shadow Realm with a much less extensive curriculum.
Her charms teacher has been demonstrating how to create ‘Tenser’s Floating Disc’ – a levitating circle that you can place items on to transport them, with the circle following you wherever you go. Her first few attempts go poorly: first her disc appears vertically and rolls around the room on its side, on her second go it collapses to the ground as soon as any weight is placed upon it and refuses to move, and on her third try it seems to have a mind of its own completely, whizzing madly around the room in all directions. The teacher sighs, dispelling Prism’s charm.
“Take a break Grimpoppy, try again another day.”

In Prism’s free time she goes to the library, reading every book she can get her hands on. She finds a book about the Matron of Ravens which piques her interest, and flips through it, pointed teeth gnawing on her lip as she reads.
There are details of the history of the Raven Queen, how she was once a mortal before she rose to godhood, replacing the old god of death. She learns that the Matron is a strong believer on the sanctity of death, hating those who try to go against the natural conclusion to life. Prism thinks that’s pretty rich coming from someone who avoided death by ascending to become an immortal goddess, but who is she to judge.

One particular page catches her eye, regarding the use of blood in certain types of magic. Apparently followers of the Raven Queen sometimes use their own blood as an ingredient in spells, giving them increased power and a greater connection to the Matron. The bottom of the page reads: ‘Blood magic, although typically associated with darkness and death, can be used to achieve great things. However, it can be incredibly dangerous if used by the wrong person - someone with malicious intent.’
At first Prism shudders at the thought of using her own blood to perform a spell, but later that evening, sitting in her room with Mother and thinking back on what she learned, she can’t help but start to feel intrigued by thoughts of the power such magic can bring. She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind, feeling surprised and slightly unsettled by how drawn to the idea of these strange magics she is.

As Prism finishes drawing the sigil required for her spell, her face scrunched in concentration, the teacher comes up behind her and peers over her shoulder.
“Almost there Grimpoppy. You need to work on tidying up your linework. And this bit over here isn’t quite right.”
Prism scowls, frustrated with how behind the rest of the class she is. She had almost had it, a solid disc appearing right in front of her face, before the teacher had appeared to counterspell it, chastising her for improper form.
“You need to be patient, child. Magic takes time, energy. It won’t just happen overnight.”

Prism’s teacher clasps her hands together, announcing to the class, “Alright, we’re going to try something a bit different today.”
She lays out an assortment of objects on the table in front of her: a plant, a candle, a lute and an amulet bearing some sort of holy symbol.
“Everybody has a natural gift for certain types of magic depending on their background, race and other factors that have had an influence on their life. Today we will explore these different magic types, and try to determine where you all source your magic, be it nature, religion, music or something else.”
She instructs the students to line up and engage with each of the objects in turn, seeing if they are drawn to any object more than the others. Prism finds herself at the very back of the line, watching nervously as student after student reaches the front.

One student grins when she lays her hands gently on the pot plant, concentrating, and sees it immediately burst into bloom, producing delicate purple flowers. Another picks up the amulet, holding it to his chest, and is greeted by a divine ray of light which he uses to heal his friend’s papercut in a matter of seconds.
Prism takes a desperate gulp as the line whittles down to just her and one other student. What if she isn’t able to connect with any of the objects? She had never been able to do magic without spending ages studying the correct motions, learning the exact incantation necessary to perform the spell.

The student in front of her walks up to the table and places a trembling hand on the plant. When nothing happens, they turn to the candle, but still the same result. However, on picking up the lute and strumming the strings, they are able to create a joyful tune, and are rewarded with the conjuration of a ghostly floating hand, which clicks its fingers to the beat as the student plays.

Finally, it’s Prism’s turn. She takes a few anxious steps to the front of the class, and picks up the lute the previous student had just put down. She plucks the strings but only manages to produce discordant notes, making her classmates grimace. Next, she turns to the candle, a small flame flickering calmly at the end of the wick. She had learnt how to light and snuff out candles already, but had no idea how to manipulate the flame, making it grow and dance like she had seen other students in the class do. She concentrates for a moment, trying to channel her energy into the flame. Nothing.
She tries the plant. Again nothing.
Frustrated, she grabs the amulet, closing her eyes tight and trying as hard as she can to make something happen, anything. She curses the teacher for not being more specific, for just telling them to “feel for the connection.” What does that even mean? Her bitter feelings at the teacher’s vagueness starts to extend to her classmates, angry that they made this look so easy while Prism is left to struggle, unable to make anything happen.

The teacher frowns slightly, tilting her head to one side. She pauses for a second before muttering, “I wonder…”
She pulls out a small needle, taking Prism’s hand in her own.
“Hold your finger out. This will sting a little.”
Prism winces as the teacher pricks the tip of her finger, holding it over a small glass plate so the blood drips onto it.
“Try now.”
Prism stands over the plate, focusing on the droplets of crimson blood smeared across the glass. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and tries to reach out with her energy. A sudden tugging sensation startles her, some sort of connection pulling her in.
She follows it with her mind, trying to see where it leads. As if caught in a trance, she puts her finger into the blood and starts to trace a pattern, her movements automatic. A sensation of immense power starts to overwhelm her, and she can feel her hair stand on end, feeling in that moment like she is unstoppable. It is intoxicating, and she starts to smile widely, drinking it all in, craving more.

“Fascinating.” The hushed whisper of the teacher snaps Prism back to reality, and she glances around the classroom to see her classmates staring at her with wide eyes, apprehensive and almost fearful expressions on their faces.
She giggles nervously, trying to lighten the heavy mood that has descended over the classroom, “Err…that was weird, huh?”
Nobody responds, still staring at the shadow elf in shock, whispering amongst themselves. She looks up at the teacher, who is looking at her with an unreadable expression. She has the unshakable feeling that she has crossed some unspoken line, but what exactly she has done wrong she isn’t sure. She makes a promise to herself to keep her head down even more from now on.

Chapter Text

Prism is 14 years old. She has excelled to the top of her class in almost every subject, spending all her free time studying – craving more knowledge with every book she finishes, each question answered leading to many more unanswered. Her many hours spent in the library can’t make up for her not possessing the knack for charms though; she started learning magic so much later in life than the Exandrian kids. Despite her frustration at her slow progress at spellcasting, she enjoys school, feeling like she’s finally found something she is good at for once. She enjoys her time alone even more, having the freedom to explore the Cobalt Soul’s vast library and archives uninterrupted, as well as spending time in the solitude of her room, casting spells to shrink her desk chair to the size of a thimble before restoring it to full size, lounging in bed and using mage hand to pull books off her shelf and deliver them straight to her without having to move from her comfortable position.

The other kids at school tend to leave her alone, but she is always aware of how much of an outsider she is. Occasional shouts of ‘Freak!’ and ‘Go back to the Shadow Realm!’ can be heard when she walks down the corridor, but she’s learnt to ignore it. Keeping her head down and staying quiet is her best defence, she’s found – she would rather not give them more ammo to use against her by acting strangely and reminding them of her differences. If all they have to go off is her appearance and where she comes from, surely there’s only so much they can make fun of her before they get bored.

Half of the time her head is too much in the clouds to notice, daydreaming of all the places she’ll be able to travel to once she has finished her internship. As soon as she finishes school, she’s out of here, sailing the sparkling Ozmit sea, roaming the jungles of the Oderan wilds, maybe going as far to even explore the Shattered Teeth.

One day though, something changes. Prism is sitting alone as usual, eating her lunch while reading over her history essay about the effects of the Calamity, when a girl approaches. Instead of a mocking expression ready to taunt her, however, the girl is smiling.
“Hi, I don’t think we’ve spoken before. My name’s Annabelle.”
“Err…hi. I’m Prism.” What does this girl want? She must know of Prism’s reputation as the weird girl from the Shadowfell. The girl who’s grey skin burns within ten minutes of being in the sun. Surely she knows better than to be seen hanging around with her?
“Is it true you’re from the Shadow Realm?”
Prism nods.
“That’s so cool! Do you want to eat lunch together?”
Prism looks up at the girl in shock. She thinks she’s cool? She can’t be hearing this right. The girl is human, around her age, with gorgeous blonde locks tumbling past her shoulders. She’s far too pretty to be interested in socialising with someone like Prism.
She weighs up her options – sitting alone like normal, or actually having some company for once. What’s the worst that could happen? Eventually she comes to a decision, looking back at Annabelle with a small, hesitant smile.
“Sure.”

On her way home from school, Prism stops by the temple dedicated to the Matron of Ravens, as she often does, liking the peace and quiet she finds there. She makes her way to the back wall, where a tall statue of the Raven Queen stands proudly. It depicts a woman wearing a white porcelain mask, dressed in a long garment made of black feathers. The sheer elegance takes Prism’s breath away every time she sees it.
She feels a strong tie to the Matron, what with both of them originally being from the Shadowfell, and she basically owes her magic to her – the Matron was the one who gave shadow elves the ability to perform magic in the first place, when she first ascended to power. Being in her temple, Prism feels more tethered to her home plane than ever.

Back in her bedroom in the Erudite quarter, Prism scratches her head over her astronomy homework – calculating the timings of the next several solstice cycles of Exandria’s moons. Her room is small, but cozy, and over the couple of years she’s lived here she’s made it feel like home. Knickknacks and ornaments are scattered about the room, stacks of books piled high on every free surface, with no room left on her overflowing bookcase. The walls are dotted with postcards and quotes, as well as some poems she has written that she is particularly proud of.

Writing has become a regular pastime of hers, spending evenings curled up in an armchair by the fire, scribbling in her notebook. She loves creating stories of exotic fantasy worlds she can escape to, creating characters that she feels closer to than any of the real people in her life. It’s become a form of meditation for her, being able to lose herself in another world for an hour or so.

When she first arrived in Exandria and was shown to her new room, the first thing she did was request a small flap be inserted into the window so Mother could go in and out as she pleases. It gets a little drafty in the winter months, but Prism doesn’t mind. It reminds her of her home in the Shadow Realm, and she feels a twinge in her stomach on thinking back on those times with her mother. Her life has changed so much since then.

She sits slumped on a beanbag, quill tucked behind her ear, and gazes up at her favourite poster – one depicting the moons of Exandria: Catha a bright white with the smaller red moon Ruidus beside it. She imagines what it would be like to visit one of them, the discoveries that could be made in such a trip. Such things can’t be possible though, just stuff of science fiction. Still, it’s fun to imagine.

At the weekends Friedvik takes her to the expansive grasslands of the Bladeshimmer Shoreline so she can practice her spellcasting.
“School will teach you some useful charms, sure, but you need to have at least a basic training in attack and defence if you plan to travel across Exandria. I’ve encountered tons of unfriendly beings in my time – you never know what you’re going to come across. So it’s best to be prepared.” As soon as he finishes speaking, Friedvik casts a blue-white beam of powerful frost energy that arcs through the air, covering the grass in a thin layer of ice. Prism can see why they needed to go somewhere with so much open space.

She watches closely as Friedvik demonstrates the spell again, listening with rapt attention as he explains how to channel the energy that she already has inside her, imagining a sort of funnel to concentrate the power into a single beam. They spend several hours practicing, but in the end all Prism can conjure is a small flurry of snow that falls gently from her hand, coating the ground in white.
Friedvik puts a supporting hand on her shoulder, “Keep practicing and I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”
The question catches Prism off-guard, and she stares at Annabelle uncomprehending. This is the second day they have eaten lunch together, Annabelle asking a multitude of questions about the Shadow Realm, seemingly mystified about how different life is there. Sometimes Prism catches a certain glimpse in the girl’s eyes that she can’t quite put a finger on, but shrugs it off as her overthinking things.

She shakes her head. She’s seen other kids her age kissing, but it had never occurred to her that it was something she might be interested in doing too. Really, she can’t see what the fuss is about; what could be so great about mashing your mouths together, tasting each other’s saliva? It sounds unhygienic, if anything.
“It’s actually quite fun, you know. Do you want to try?”
Prism stares at Annabelle again, in shock, her heart increasing in pace as the other girl starts to lean in. She stays perfectly still, in a panic as their lips meet, unsure what she’s meant to be doing. Annabelle’s eyes flutter closed, so Prism shuts her own, trying to mimic her motions. The other girl’s lips are soft against her own, but apart from that she isn’t sure what she’s meant to be feeling. Suddenly, she feels Annabelle’s tongue push up her top lip and run along her teeth. She starts to feel sick.

“Eww, I can’t believe you actually did it Annabelle! I bet Maisie 5 gold you’d chicken out.”
Prism hears mean laughter coming from a nearby group of girls. Annabelle pulls back immediately, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, pulling a face like she has just tasted something disgusting, “I don’t back out from a dare.”
“Well, did you find out?” One girl asks, “Does she have fangs?”
“Yep,” Annabelle replies, “Gods above, she’s such a freak.”
The girls snicker again, and Annabelle leaves the table to join them.

Prism sits frozen in her seat, trying to process what just happened. Blinking back tears, she pulls a book out of her bag, opening it and burying her face inside, trying to keep calm. She stares blankly at the pages as the words swim in front of her eyes, determined not to let the girls win by seeing her cry.
“It’s fine, everything’s fine,” she tells herself, “I’m better off alone, anyway.”

Chapter Text

She didn’t know she was actually going to steal the scroll until it was already tucked away in her pocket. Prism is 16 years old, and is making a hasty exit from the library of the Cobalt Soul’s restricted section, after sneakily slipping a scroll into her jacket pocket. As usual, she has spent her evening poring over spell books and ancient tomes, researching whatever catches her fancy and scribbling down notes as she goes. Technically, she’s not meant to be in the restricted section at all, but she swiped Freidvik’s card that allows him access long ago, and she’s not been apprehended yet.

All of the Cobalt Soul’s documents are meant to remain inside the library, to make sure none get lost or damaged. Copying down passages and taking notes is fine, but removing them from the building is strictly forbidden. This particular scroll was tucked away in a shadowy corner of the restricted section, nestled away amongst yellowed parchments containing details on blood spells and other frowned upon types of magic. She isn’t sure what all the disapproval is about really – people use all sorts in spells, animal fur, graveyard dirt, so why is blood any more taboo?
If you’re not hurting anyone to get it, she doesn’t see why there would be any problem. This is what she tells herself, anyway, every time she writes down the components for yet another blood ritual in her ever growing notebook of charms and enchantments. Knowledge is important, surely there can’t be an issue with keeping herself well educated?

That night, sat at her desk, she carefully unravels the scroll before glancing over at her geography homework, sitting untouched on her shelf, its submission deadline looming. She then looks over at the clock informing her it’s way past the time she ought to be going to sleep, before starting to read the scroll.
‘Summon Greater Demon
Using blood from a person killed in the last 24 hours, this spell allows the caster to conjure and control a demon, commanding it as they please.’

It’s not like she’s going to use the spell of course, it’s purely curiosity. Nevertheless, as the moons rise high in the night sky, and the stars start to twinkle outside her bedroom window, Prism studies the contents of the scroll, memorizing the sigils and incantations within, a slight knot of guilt in her stomach on the decisions that led her here. Uncomfortable, but not enough to make her stop.

“Where is the Ascendant Bridge Mountain, the tallest mountain in Exandria, located? Prism?”
Prism, who had been dozing off quietly in her chair, jolts awake.
“Erm, Marquet?” She guesses, cursing herself for falling asleep during class.
Her teacher tuts and shakes her head, “Issylra.”
Prism rubs her eyes and readjusts herself to sit upright from where she had been slouching, her cheeks burning red.

At the end of class, her teacher calls her over.
“This isn’t like you Prism, is something going on?”
She shakes her head, “Everything’s fine, I’m just a bit tired.”
“Your grades have been slipping recently. Have you made a start on the homework at least?”
Prism thinks about the blank parchment sitting patiently on her desk, waiting to be started.
“Yes, I’ve almost finished it.”

When she gets home, Friedvik summons her into his office. It’s a relatively large room, although the amount of books and knickknacks he has scattered about makes it look smaller. His desk is always a mess, but today it looks particularly disorganized, a chaotic jumble of papers and books scattered over its surface, making Prism wonder how he ever finds anything. Not looking up from his work, he addresses her.
“I’m sorry Prism, but I won’t have time to take you training this weekend. My work just won’t stop piling up.”

Their weekend trips have become less and less frequent recently, with the Cobalt Soul seeming to give Friedvik more work to do than he can keep up with.
She nods her head, disappointed, and he pauses writing for a second, looking up apologetically. In his hand sits his favourite quill – fashioned out of the feather he picked up in the Shadow Realm, the feather that was Prism’s signal to trust him. It truly is a beautiful feather, a deep midnight blue that gives off an ethereal shine in certain light.
“Next weekend, I promise.”

Back in her room, Prism throws down her bag and walks over to Mother to scratch her under the chin. Mother squarks in welcome, shuffling on her perch. She’s grown a lot from the scrawny little thing Prism rescued all those years ago. Now she can no longer squeeze through the window flap Prism had installed for her, Prism has to wait for the tell-tale tapping on the window that signals her return from her late night hunting trips.
She flicks her hand to turn on her lamp, setting the colour to a comforting muted pink. Throwing herself onto her bed with a sigh, she wonders what to do with herself now she has the whole weekend free. Go to the library again, spend more time reading up on blood magic? Finally do the school work she’s been putting off, ignoring it in favour of more exciting research?
No, she can’t let the weekend go to waste. Decision made, she casts Magic Mouth on her lamp, setting it to wake her up at sunrise.

Her makeshift alarm goes off at the crack of dawn, as the first rays of sunlight begin to peek through her curtain. She tugs opens her wardrobe, revealing an array of black skirts, jumpers and blazers, and tall leather boots. Tucked away at the back of the closet is her old cloak, far too small for her now, threadbare and full of holes, but she can’t bring herself to throw it away. It’s one of the only things she has left of the Shadow Realm, apart from the framed picture of her mother and father she keeps on her bedside table.
She pulls on a skirt and purple cardigan, grabs a croissant from the kitchen, and makes her way to Azalea Street Park, a short walk from her home in the Erudite Quarter.

The park spans an enormous area, tall trees swaying gently in the breeze, fountains with stone statues dotted here and there, providing a peaceful sound of trickling water.
Right then, down to business. Prism thinks back on the most recent spell her teacher covered at school: Phantom Steed. She closes her eyes to concentrate, going over the steps in her mind, imagining a magnificent stallion, mane flowing majestically in the wind. To her surprise, when she opens her eyes again, she is greeted by the sight of a ghost-like horse standing in front of her. A little shorter and less impressive than the one she had been picturing, but a horse nonetheless. It licks her face as if to say hello.

Grinning, she grabs the reins and pulls herself up onto it, shimmying herself into a comfortable position before squeezing her legs to get the horse to start moving. After trotting around the park for a while, she builds up confidence, encouraging the horse to go faster and faster, until they’re cantering at top speed. Wind blowing her hair across her face, Prism laughs, feeling more free in this moment than ever before.

Eventually, she pulls back on the reins to bring the stallion to a stop, wondering what she should try next. There’s one spell she’s been wanting to give a go for a while, but hasn’t had the chance. She thinks back on the spell scroll she had seen in the library, trying to remember the precise incantation. She mutters the phrase, placing her hand on the horse, and watches it disappear before her eyes.
“Yes!” She lets out a shriek of excitement as she looks down and can see the grass below her, the horse she is sat on now invisible. Someone walks past as she squeals happily, and Prism calls out to them, imagining how she must currently look, seemingly floating in midair.
“Good morning!”
The passerby gives her a strange look, before picking up their pace. Prism laughs as they scurry off in the other direction.

She dismounts, and watches as the nearby grass is pressed down by invisible horse hooves, small circles being flattened as the stallion walks over to a nearby tree and starts plucking leaves off the branches, the foliage disappearing into thin air as the horse eats. Prism wonders if she should have tied a lead to it before jumping off. Hopefully it doesn’t wander too far or she’ll never find it again.
In their last session, Friedvik had been teaching her how to teleport, visualising a spot within a 500 foot range and transferring herself there instantaneously. Using all of her focus, she studies a faraway spot in the park, next to an intricate statue of the Wildmother, closes her eyes, and tries to will herself to her destination.

Opening her eyes again, she finds herself 10 foot from the statue, staring up at the depiction of a beautiful woman with long flowing hair, covered in a mass of leaves and vines. Delighted, she teleports again, back to where she started, back again, again and again until suddenly she finds herself in midair, standing on an incredibly shaky invisible surface. She totters for a moment, waving her arms in the air, desperately trying to regain her balance, before falling backwards and landing in the middle of a bush. Well, she found the horse at least.
Prism starts to giggle at the absurdity of it all, adrenaline rushing through her. She feels the invisible horse start chewing on the bottom of her cardigan, and laughs more, her giggle turning in to a cackle. Maybe she’s not as bad at spellcasting as she thought.

Chapter Text

Tapping her foot on the floor impatiently as she struggles through her homework, Prism glances at the clock. If she heads to the library now it’s bound to be virtually empty. Pulling on her coat, she heads out in to the crisp night air. It’s only mid-autumn, but the weather is already getting colder, and she can see her breath puff out little clouds of steam as she walks.

She arrives at the library, taking off her beanie and stuffing it in her pocket, smoothing down her black hair. The only people here at this time of night are scholars working late to complete their research, and students doing last minute cramming before deadlines. Glancing around to make sure the coast is clear, she takes out Friedvik’s pass and enters the restricted section. She peruses the aisles for a while, stroking the spines of the heavy tomes, seeing if any of them call out to her.

“Here to steal more scrolls?”
A sudden voice behind her makes her jump.
“I’m not stealing anything!” She squeaks, whipping around to face the source of the voice.
“Suuure you’re not.” The girl smirks at Prism, elven ears peeking out from behind choppy brown bangs. Red streaks run through her chin length hair which falls over her eyes, and Prism can see an array of tattoos adorning her bare arms.
“I’ve seen you in here before, quite a few times actually. How did you get into the restricted section?”
“Have you been stalking me?”
The girl laughs, “My dad works for the Cobalt Soul so he makes me help out from time to time. It’s better than letting me bunk off school, he says, and this way I’m actually getting paid. It’s a win-win situation.”
She leans forward, eyes twinkling with mischief, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna report ya. What are you doing with all these books anyway? Are you up to something naughty?”
Prism shakes her head quickly, “I just find it interesting, that’s all.”
“Shame. I was going to ask if I could join ya.” The girl winks at Prism, and she stifles a laugh.

They spend a while talking, Prism asking about the girl’s life.
“I’m not much of a reader, me, didn’t really enjoy school. Always skipped class when I could, which pissed dad off, so we would fight a lot until he let me start working here.”
Prism nods, thinking to herself. She couldn’t imagine hating school, all those books and knowledge, chances to gain wisdom passed down the generations. Admittedly, it doesn’t hold the same wonder as it did when she first arrived in Exandria, but she could still never pass up the opportunity to learn something new.
Eventually, the girl says her goodbyes, “I’d better actually do some work, those research papers aren’t going to alphabetise themselves,” and Prism heads home, a smile on her face after a rare evening spent with company, despite the fact she never got round to actually reading any books. It’s only when she’s halfway back home that she realises she never got the girl’s name.

The following night, Prism heads back to the library. Even though she tells herself she’s going for strictly research purposes, there’s a knot of excitement in her stomach at the prospect of seeing the girl again. She’s the first person who hasn’t judged her, even seeing to enjoy Prism’s company. Whatever it was, Prism likes her.

When she arrives, however, taking her usual path straight towards the restricted section, she sees the space is empty. Disappointed, she heads over to the section on demons and devilish beasts and starts pulling out books to read. She is about to pull out a book titled ‘Making Contracts With Demons: A Risky Business’, when a movement in the corner of her eye makes her pause.

Wedged in firmly behind a particularly heavy pile of books on a high-up shelf, a book appears to be twitching. She frowns, and stretches up to try and pull it free. Standing on her tiptoes, she reaches for the book and gives it a big tug. It gives slightly, but is still thoroughly stuck.
She grabs a pile of books and stacks them on the floor, standing on top of them to give herself some extra height. As she stands on her precarious newly created tower, wobbling slightly, she swipes away some of the cobwebs that coat the volume. She yanks the book again, releasing it and tumbling backwards, falling on the floor with a thud. She winces, and looks around to see if anyone heard the commotion and came running.

She stands up, brushing dust off her skirt, and picks up the book. The tome is bound in intricately patterned brown and back leather, with silver runes inscribed onto its cover. She blows on it to remove the remaining cobwebs, coughing and waving a hand in front of her face to get rid of the resulting cloud of dust released into the air. To her surprise, as her coughing quietens, she realises she isn’t the only one coughing.

She looks down to see the book spluttering along with her, a grumpy looking scrunched up looking face now visible on the cover.
It coughs once more before rasping, “Freedom at last.”
Prism stares at the book in disbelief, “You’re talking!”
She lets go of the book in shock, and watches as it continues to float in midair where she dropped it, hovering calmly while somehow managing to look wholly fed up.
“Your powers of perception amaze me,” the book replies witheringly.
“But…you’re a book!”
If a book could look tired, this one appears exhausted, as it sighs exasperatedly, flicking rapidly through its tattered pages, yellowed with age, as if stretching for the first time in years.

“I was a great mage once, before someone trapped me in this book. The name's Dynios. I’ve been stuck in this stuffy old library for years now, waiting for someone to free me, or at least give me a dust, for goodness sake. Not one person has read me, not even had a leisurely flick through!”
So this Dynios fellow wasn’t always a book? Prism didn’t know how that could be possible, putting someone’s soul into an inanimate object. Who on Exandria could have such great power?
“That all sounds very implausible,” she says finally.
“You’re standing here talking to a sentient book, I think it’s time we throw all sense of plausibility out the window. So are you going to help me or not?”
“Help you?”
“Well, you’re not going to just put me back on the shelf are you? Rescue me, find a spell to turn me back, anything, just don’t leave me here to rot for another hundred years. The papermites are terrible…”
Prism bites her lip, thinking, “Well alright, but you need to keep quiet.”

She grabs the book, slips it under her jumper and tries to look inconspicuous as she makes her way towards the exit.
“Hurry up, child.” She hears Dynios’ impatient muffled whisper.
Prism hushes him, “Don’t talk until I’ve left the library.”
“What was that, dear?” A nearby elderly gnome perusing the magical plants shelves asks.
“Oh…nothing. Just talking to myself!” Prism replies brightly, smiling sweetly and trying to look innocent.
The gnome looks at her strangely before going back to her reading.

Prism scurries back to her room, Dynios tucked securely underneath her jumper. When she gets back, she takes him out, and he floats in the middle of the room, frowning as he takes everything in. She gets the strange feeling of being judged, and briefly wonders if she has stooped so low that even a talking book finds her odd.
Just at that moment, she hears a tapping at the window, and turns to find Mother waiting outside patiently to be let in. Prism opens the window, and Mother flies in, landing on her perch, cocking her head to one side when she notices the levitating book in the centre of the room.
She caws uncertainly, as if to ask Prism if she is aware of the situation.
“Yes Mother, I’m not sure what to do with him either.”

She mutters to herself, “Maybe I could take him to Friedvik. He’ll understand this sort of magic a lot better than me.”
“Don’t take me to anyone else!” Dynios exclaims frantically, “I don’t know who I can trust. I barely remember the events of that day, let alone who cursed me.”
“How do you know you can trust me?”
Dynios appears amused by Prism’s question, “You hardly seem the type capable of concocting such a heinous plan.”
“You don’t know that…” She grumbles defensively.
The spellbook rolls his eyes, “It’s too risky. No, we need to do some research first.”

“Surely you remember something from that day?”
“It’s all a bit of a blur really. I recall being hard at work, conducting research in the Shadow Realm – Obleris, I think it was – when there was some sort of scuffle. My friend was with me at the time, not sure what happened to him afterwards. We were working together, trying to…” Dynios trails off, lost in memories of the past.
Prism stares at him, “Did you say Obleris?”
“Yes, do you know it?”
How can this be? He’s from the same town as Prism? What are the chances of that? None of this adds up. Surely she would have remembered a powerful wizard living in her village?

“How long ago was this?”
“Oh, it must have been…fifteen years ago now.”
So maybe she wouldn’t remember, if it happened when she was still a baby. But this raises more questions than it answers. Oh how she wishes she could talk to her mother, ask her if she knew about any of this.
Questions swirl around Prism’s head as she tries to fall asleep that night, tossing and turning as she attempts to make sense of it all. One thing she knows for sure: it’s time for her to do what she does best, and get down to some research.

Chapter Text

Prism is 18 years old. She is sitting at her school graduation ceremony, waiting for her name to be called to go and collect her certificate. She passed all of her exams with flying colours, managing to secure a spot in the top five students in her year with ease.
“Annabelle Young!” A booming voice calls out, and Prism watches Annabelle rise from her seat a few rows in front of her, beaming as she struts towards the stage. Prism rolls her eyes.
Feeling mischievous, she reaches her hand to her mouth, pretending to yawn, and whispers a short incantation. A small shimmering spectral hand appears by Annabelle’s feet, tripping her up before Prism quickly dispels it again. She flicks her wrist once more, and uses prestidigitation to soil Annabelle’s clothes.
Whispers and giggles can start to be heard throughout the auditorium as Annabelle stands up, bright red in the face as she scurries to the front to collect her certificate, clothes in disarray.

Ever since the incident in the cafeteria, Prism had been playing little tricks on Annabelle: using Magic Mouth to leave letters in her locker that let out a horrendous shriek when she opens the door, creating illusions of monsters and demons that follow her when she’s walking down the corridor alone, delivering ominous letters with writing only visible to her, making her friends think she’s crazy when she shows them the blank letters, claiming she’s being haunted by some evil spirit.

She’s always careful, making sure no one is around to spot her setting up these pranks, and Annabelle has never caught on. In fact, it seems to have sedated the girl somewhat, making her more demure. Unaware of the cause of these occurrences, she convinced herself she was cursed, and it was evident she had been losing sleep over it – arriving at school with dark eyes and tussled hair, her once stunning blonde locks now diminished, lacking their previous glamorous shine. If she wasn’t such a horrible girl, Prism could almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
As it stood, she felt she rather got what was coming to her, so didn’t feel much remorse for tormenting her so much.

The rest of the ceremony passes uneventfully, Prism boredly tapping her foot as she waits for her name to be called. Eventually, she hears the principal call out – his voice magically amplified to be heard throughout the entire hall – “Prism Grimpoppy!”
She stands up, smoothing down her skirt, and walks up to the front to collect her certificate, shaking hands with the principal as he congratulates her on her hard work. As she heads back to her seat, her eyes scan the crowd of proud parents and family members sitting at the back of the auditorium with gifts and flowers, waiting to shower their loved ones with praise. No sign of Friedvik. Not that he would have come, Prism thinks to herself, trying to swallow down her disappointment – he’s always so busy these days. He surely has more important things to be doing than attending a silly old ceremony.

The celebrations come to an end and Prism works her way through the throngs of excited people, pushing past crowds of her classmates making plans to go out and celebrate – she wouldn’t be invited, not that she wants to go anyway.
Weaving amongst the gathered guests, she finally exits the school hall, heading for the front gates, where she stops and looks back on the place she has spent so much time in over the past six years. After passing through these gates, chances are she will never step back through them. She gazes up at the grandiose building, with its antique bricks and ornate windows, the building that once appeared enormous to a small elf who had only just arrived in Exandria. She smiles, softly. This place sure holds a lot of memories, good and bad. Now, on to the next.

There is a spring in Prism’s step as she walks home, finding herself excited for the next stage in her life. She’ll have more time to work at the Cobalt Soul now, and she ponders on what thrilling adventure they will send her on first. Soon enough, she’ll be whisked away somewhere across Exandria, discovering unexplored lands, battling ferocious beasts, learning all sorts of new spells, all the time documenting her findings in her academic journal. She can’t wait.
Her walk home takes her past the library, but she doesn’t enter – after spending almost every day in there for the past couple of months, revising for her examinations, she thinks she has earnt a day off. Although, studying is not the only thing she has been doing there…

After finding Dynios stashed away in the restricted section, she had found herself with an unexpected companion in her life. She didn’t really know what to do with him; they get on well enough, but he can be quite snooty and uptight at times. She supposes this isn’t the way he had imagined his life playing out, stuck in a teenager’s bedroom most days, with only a bird for company. Well, they were both stuck with it now.
She left books out for him, but there wasn’t much she could do to help in terms of entertainment, seeing as he lacks any appendages to turn the pages. He had managed to win Mother over though eventually, so she didn’t mind using her beak to flick to the next page. They had an interesting relationship – Dynios and Mother – but Prism thought it best not to comment. As long as they were getting along alright, and not making a mess of the place, Prism was happy.

She had tried her best to find out more about his past, spending hours in the library searching for accounts on great mages throughout history, curses and spells that could transmogrify someone into a book, and past research projects that had been conducted in and around Obleris, but to no avail. Either he was exaggerating his fame (likely), or she was looking in the wrong place. He wasn’t helping the cause, either, with his memory full of gaps and missing information.
Prism can’t shake the feeling he is being deliberately vague with the details, perhaps remembering more than he lets on. It’s no use if she doesn’t know the full picture – she has so little to go on as it is. Nevertheless, her attempts to get the mage to recall more details have been fruitless.

During her long research sessions at the library, Prism also kept an eye out for the punk-looking girl who had caught her in the restricted section, browsing for something interesting to read. They had only spoken the one time, but she got the sense they would have become friends, if they could hang out more. There was something about her that spoke out to Prism – with her dozens of tattoos leaving no skin bare, and multiple piercings adorning her face. In fact, she had been inspired to start getting her own tattoos after that meeting, loving the idea of having something meaningful permanently etched into her skin, so she could never forget it. Currently she had two – the glyph of the first spell she ever learnt, and one of her mother’s initial sitting next to a black raven feather.
Unfortunately, she never did run into that girl again – maybe her shift had been changed, or she had moved away. Whatever was the reason, Prism couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Occasionally, Prism thinks she catches a glimpse of a red hair in the distance, craning her neck to try and see the owner, but by the time she makes her way over, the person is gone from sight.

At least being done with school means Prism has more time for her own research. She has stolen several more scrolls from the Cobalt Soul’s archives since the first one – mostly blood magic and other ritual spells – but hasn’t tested many of them. She’s too nervous to, after what happened the first time. She had stayed up for hours past her bedtime, reading the instructions for ‘Summon Greater Demon’, and considering whether a modified version would work. Obviously, she didn’t have the blood of a dead person, but how about her own blood? It’s the same components, just of a living person rather than dead. Surely it would lead to a similar effect?

After mulling it over for a while, Prism decided to give it a go. Making a small cut on her arm, she carefully traced the shape of the glyph with her blood, whispering the spell as she drew. After a terrible night’s sleep with a horrifying beast lurking in the corner of her room, she vowed never to try that again. She wasn’t sure what the creature she summoned was, but it definitely wasn’t one of the demons described on the scroll. It leered at her from the shadows, horrible red eyes piercing her like daggers. Ordering it to leave didn’t help – if she had managed to do the spell properly, she would have full control over what she summoned, but this creature ignored her every command.
Safe to say, she never attempted that spell again, and for weeks after didn’t sleep a wink, tossing and turning constantly, the imagined shadow of the terrible beast still haunting her from the corner of the room.

She makes a stop at the temple on her way home, wanting to say a quick prayer of thanks to the Matron after her exams had gone so well. Prism felt quite confident that had been entirely down to her own hard work and dedication, but it couldn’t hurt to keep the gods on her side by sending them some acknowledgement now and again. Standing in front of the Raven Queen’s statue, she closes her eyes, finding peace in the stillness that surrounds her.
As she turns to leave, a voice calls out to her.
“I can sense darkness within you, child. You ought to be careful.”
Prism stops in her tracks, turning around to face the elderly man who addressed her. She doesn’t recognise him – what does he mean, darkness? Who does he think he is, throwing around wild accusations like that?
She frowns at him, “Do you mean my blood magic?”
“Of course not. Half of the Matron’s followers use blood magic. I’m talking about something else. I’m sure you can feel it, that longing for power, that thirst for revenge. One day, you will have to make a choice, a choice to embrace that power, or rise above it. Tread carefully, my child.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Prism practically runs out of the temple, her blood pounding in her ears. What on Exandria was that about? She has never even met that man before, what does he know? He must be crazy, just spouting nonsense for no reason.

Prism makes it back to her room, and is greeted with the sight of Mother pecking at Dynios, wings flapping, and him yelping angrily as he tries to move away from her snapping beak.
“Stop it both of you,” she orders, shrugging off her jacket, “I thought you were getting along these days.”
“She started it!” Dynios grumbles.
Prism shakes her head. The hierarchy between the two of them was constantly in turmoil, with Mother believing she was more important than Dynios since she was here first, while Dynios believed he should call the shots, on account of him being a ‘great mage’, while she was just a bird. When it came down to it, they were both on equal footing when it came to irritating Prism, with both of them receiving similar amounts of telling off for causing a ruckus.

She hangs up her jacket, thinking back on the strange words the man in the temple had said to her. What did he mean? No, there’s no point spending time trying to reason it out, the man was clearly insane. She looks at herself in the mirror, taking some deep breaths. She gazes at her bare arms, slowly tracing the ‘E’ on her right arm. She wonders if her mother would have been proud of her today. She’s sure she would have been right at the front of the crowd of parents, a huge smile on her face as she scooped Prism up into a crushing hug. She blinks back the tears welling up in her eyes, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. Best not to dwell on things like that.
She wonders if she should get another tattoo to celebrate graduating. It would have to be something meaningful, she wanted each of her tattoos to have a significance behind them, a sort of message to herself. Of course, being nice to look at was important too. However, they also serve another purpose, which is covering up her scars from practicing blood magic. Most spells only required a drop or two of blood, so the tattoos helped the short red scratches not stand out too much against her pale, grey skin.

As she is looking down at her tattoos, she spots something in the corner of her eye. A letter, sat on her desk, that wasn’t there when she left that morning. She picks it up and starts reading.
‘Dear Prism, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there today. Know that I am very proud of you. Please accept this gift, as a token of your achievements.’
Tucked underneath the note is Friedvik’s quill, the celestial blue-black feather that he had loved so much. A note is attached to it: ‘For your future adventures and stories yet unwritten.’
She turns the feather in her hand, admiring it. It’s strange, at some angles it’s completely black, devoid of any colour, but when the light hits it just so, it turns into an otherworldly blue, reminiscent of the night’s sky. Prism can almost imagine the twinkling stars as she looks at it, a galaxy of swirling shades. It really is quite remarkable.
Mother hops on to her shoulder and softly bumps her head against Prism's. Prism smiles, reaching up to stroke her.
"Well Mother? What should we do now?"

Chapter Text

“Here, you’ll like this one, Mother:
‘There once was a beautiful bird,
Whose speed in the sky was absurd,
The bird’s name was Mother,
Her feathers shone like no other,
A prettier raven was never observed.’”

20-year-old Prism lounges in an armchair in front of a roaring fire, long legs dangling over the armrest as she chews on the end of her pencil, notebook resting on her lap. She has just discovered the joy of limericks and is having great fun trying to write ones about the people she knows.

“I once met a stuffy old mage,
Whose pages were yellowed with age,
He got trapped in a book,
You could tell with one look,
Just how much this filled him with rage!”
Prism giggles as Dynios scowls at her, “They aren’t exactly the height of literature.”
“Well actually, everyone knows limericks are highly intellectual and difficult to write. So there.” She sticks her tongue out at the glowering book. He rolls his eyes in response. At least, Prism thinks he does. His facial expressions are always hard to read.

Prism reaches her hands out to warm them by the fire, sighing contentedly. A purple beret sits slouched on her head. She had seen it in the market and immediately had to purchase it, claiming, “I just think it goes with my whole vibe. Tortured poet, struggling academic, etc, etc.”
She pauses, thinking to herself for a moment, before going, “Maybe I should take up smoking.”
“You’re a smart enough girl to know that’s a terrible idea. The damage to your lungs alone…,” comes Dynios’ reply.
“I know, but hear me out – it would totally add to my, like, suffering artist aesthetic.”
“The only one suffering around here is me,” grumbles Dynios, “Anyway, shouldn’t you be heading to bed? You have a busy day tomorrow.”

Prism groans, throwing her head backwards and covering her face with her open notebook. Another day of boring busywork to look forward to. She is grateful to have a job, of course, but the work the Cobalt Soul comes up with for her is just so dull. She can’t complain too much – Friedvik gave her a home, an education – has done so much for her all in all, that she should just be happy to accept anything offered to her. But after spending day after day since graduation shelving books, filing paperwork, and cleaning out inkwells, she can’t help but feel despondent. When she had imagined her job after graduating, it had involved traveling to distant places, countless exciting adventures and mysteries to be unravelled, not…this.
She has gone to Freidvik’s office more times than she can count, begging to be assigned to something more interesting.
“It’s out of my hands,” comes his usual reply.

Prism throws herself face forward onto her bed; her dejected sighs muffled by her pillow.
“I just want some excitement in my life, is that too much to ask for?”
“Be careful what you wish for, young lady. With excitement comes danger, and I do not feel you are ready for such risks.”
“But how am I meant to prepare for danger if they never let me get some actual experience? I’m just wasting away here…”

She rolls on to her back, looking up at the stars she had stuck on her ceiling, enchanted to give off a soft glow. Her mind wanders, a million miles away, as she rockets amongst the twinkling stars, hopping from planet to planet, never bored, never a moments rest. She stifles a wistful sigh. She’s been sighing a lot these days.

“Maybe if you made a couple of friends you wouldn’t be as bored,” Dynios continues to berate her.
“I have friends!” Prism protests.
Dynios raises an eyebrow.
“I have Mother…”
“Your pet raven does not constitute a friend.”
Prism’s gaze falls from the constellation on her ceiling to the picture beside her bed – her parents loving faces smiling back at her. Maybe she is a bit lonely…

She looks over at Dynios to see him also staring at the picture, a strange look on his face, before his attention quickly snaps back to her.
“All I’m saying is a girl your age needs to socialise. Make connections.”
“Are you trying to parent me?”
“Well, you’ve clearly been lacking in parental guidance thus far in your life.”
Prism groans again, closing her eyes and throwing her pillow over her face.
A moment later, she mumbles from beneath the pillow, “Fine, tomorrow I’ll go out and make a friend. Happy?”

Prism walks down the streets of Emon, racking her brain for a place where she’s likely to make friends. The library perhaps? That’s where she met the nice punk girl with the red streaks. No, if the registrar sees her she’ll be roped into helping out with some record keeping task. The library’s out of the question.
She thinks back on the tiefling she used to play games with as a child, wistfully remembering the fun they used to have. They lived in the same neighbourhood, so became friends purely by proximity. It seemed so much simpler to make friends back then – you would just find someone your own age and ask if they would like to accompany you on some mischief making. Easy.
Does Friedvik count as a friend? She supposes he is more of a mentor if anything; it’s not like they ever talk about personal matters.

Prism heads down the promenade, taking a leisurely look at the food stalls – breathing in the delicious scents of warm breads and hearty soups – before continuing her search. Her mission takes her down an alleyway she has never been down before, never having had a reason to venture through this part of town in the past. Keeping her eyes open for anywhere that looks particularly lively, she walks down the cobblestone streets, basking in the thrill of exploring a new part of the city.

One extravagantly decorated building catches her eye, standing out boldly amongst the other drab brown and grey brick buildings that line the street. The shop’s exterior is covered in swaths of beautifully painted purple and blue fabrics; exquisite silks adorned with intricate patterns drape down from every crevice. More fabric covers the entryway, along with dangling beads, strung up on strings, which clink together gently in the breeze. Above the doorway sits a painted sign, with the words ‘Gilmore’s Glorious Goods’ drawn in elegant gold writing.

’What an interesting place,’ Prism thinks to herself, intrigued by the tremendous amount of decoration, with no indication of what is actually sold inside. Pushing aside the bundles of fabric and hanging beads, she enters.
The interior is even more exorbitant than the outside, the cacophony of colours and textures almost giving Prism a headache as she takes it all in. The intense smell of incense permeates the room, and she turns slowly on the spot, adjusting to the overwhelming assault on her senses. She comes to the shocking realisation that the shop is bigger on the inside, and in her awe stumbles backwards, knocking into a table with a loud thump.
A vase wobbles, threatening to topple over, but she thrusts her hand out to stop it just in time. That was close.

Suddenly, a booming voice rings out from the back of the shop, “Do my ears deceive me, or do we have a customer? Welcome, dear traveller, to Gilmore’s Glorious Goods, the finest magic shop in Exandria – here to fulfil all your adventuring needs!”
A well-dressed man appears from the back, dressed in luxurious purple robes, much like the fabrics that hang outside the shop, covered in expensive looking jewellery and medallions. His long dark hair and goatee are embellished with colourful beads, and a warm smile occupies his face, his arms outstretched.
“Hello there, my dear,” he addresses Prism, “My name is Gilmore, your humble shopkeeper. Now, what may I have the pleasure of assisting you with today?”

“Erm,” Prism gawks at the man, unsure of what to say, “Your shop is quite something.”
“Isn’t it just! It’s been through a lot through the years, but here it stands more proudly than ever. Anything you could wish for – anything you could dream of wishing for – I can guarantee you’ll find here. For example, this amulet of health will only set you back 6,000 gold! And this Armor of Invulnerability could be yours for the low, low price of 5,000 platinum. A steal!”
Prism stares at Gilmore in silence. As if she could afford such things!
“Or if that’s not your style, we have all sorts of affordable little knickknacks and must-haves. Look at these trading cards, each one has a different member of the Cerberus Assembly – bound to make your friends jealous!”
Well, it wouldn’t hurt to take a brief look round, Prism supposes. She won’t buy anything – just five minutes of browsing, purely for curiosities sake.

Half an hour later, Prism is leaving the store, arms laden down with heavy bags of shopping. She winces at the thought of how much all this cost her, but the shopkeeper was just so charming and persuasive.
He calls out to her as she leaves, “Thank you so much, dear friend, come again soon!”
What did he just call her? Friend?
That means…she’s done it! She made a friend!
“See Dynios? Told you I could do it!” She peers into one of the bags that Dynios had slipped into about twenty minutes into her shopping spree, claiming he was bored and was going to take a nap.
She sees him happily snoozing amongst her shopping, snoring lightly. Ah well, she can boast to him later…

Chapter Text

Flowing rivers of shimmering iridescent light dance across the sky, jumping and twirling as the colours intertwine, glowing beautifully against the darkening evening sky. There is a tangible static in the air, a buzz almost, as the leylines of Exandria crackle and hum with energy. Something big is coming – everyone can feel it, even if most don’t know what it means. The whole of Exandria is holding its breath.

22-year-old Prism skips through the Erudite Quarter in Emon, a huge smile on her face as she dodges her way through the crowds of gathered people. Festivities are being prepared – a night of music, dancing and celebration awaits, and Emon is bustling and livelier than ever. Tonight marks a very important occasion – the night of the apogee solstice – and Prism’s first ever mission.

She was informed of her task a week ago; she is to be transported to another city, one lying near a leyline nexus point, in order to gather information about the populace’s experience of the solstice. She doesn’t know all the details, but can feel the air of tension in the Cobalt Soul as mages rush around on various business and last minute preparations. Friedvik has been called away on some urgent matter – something about some particularly intense lunar flares, so she can’t ask him for more explanation on quite why people are getting so worked up.
Putting her impressive sleuthing skills to the test, she was able to gleam some more information than what the Cobalt Soul has told her. Apogee solstices are rare, only occurring every century or so, and are meant to be pretty powerful from what Prism has heard. Powerful enough even to shift Exandria’s leylines, causing all sorts of wild occurrences. A spot of research in the library tells her that the Matron of Ravens managed to ascend to godhood during one of these events. If such unbelievable feats can be possible, its no wonder the mages are worried.

If she concentrates, she can almost feel an extra murmur of magical energy flowing through her veins, as if any spell she cast would have an extra oomph of power behind it. Or maybe the tingling feeling in her stomach is just excitement of the adventure that awaits. Either way, it’s bound to be a night to remember.

Tonight, she finally gets to leave Emon, go somewhere new, meet new people and explore another city. It’s everything she has been dreaming of since she was a little girl. Reaching the Cobalt Soul headquarters, she rushes in through the main entrance, almost knocking over a stressed looking dwarf carrying a thick stack of papers in her haste.
“Sorry!” She calls over her shoulder, not slowing down. The building is especially crowded today, with people rushing around frantically in order to prepare for the night’s events. Some seem excited, some nervous, none of them knowing what the night will bring.

“I’m here!” Prism bursts into the room she was told to head to, the custodian frowning at her outburst as she hurries in.
“You’re late. Have you got everything you need?”
Prism nods, eagerly. She’s only going for a few nights, so she doesn’t need much, just a change of clothes and some stationary. Anyway, if she forgets anything, it’ll be easy enough to locate supplies in the city. In her excitement, she forgot to ask which settlement she will be heading to, but she doesn’t even care. It’s finally time! This is it!

The custodian nods her approval, and signals Prism to step into the teleportation circle. As she stands in the centre of the intricately drawn sigil, she watches as the runes start to glow with arcane magic, and her hair starts to stand on end in reaction to the powerful energy. She looks down at Dynios, who is tucked away by her side.
“Are you ready, Dynios?”
“I mean, I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Prism grins, “Here we go!”

Prism blinks. Then blinks again. She turns around on the spot. Closes her eyes, rubs them, and opens them again. A forest? This can’t be right. She was supposed to be going to a bustling city, somewhere lively and full of people. But…there’s nothing here but trees. The only creatures around here to talk to are the squirrels!
Looking around, all she can see is woodland – trees as far as the eye can see, towering dark green conifers stretching their limbs up into the dark nighttime sky. Night? Wasn’t it just early evening? Has she been transported to another continent altogether?
Twigs snap underfoot as she starts to walk, a crisp crunching sound that rings out in the eerie quiet that surrounds her, the only other noise coming from the owls and other woodland critters that reside here.
“Where are you going? There’s nothing around here…we need to head back.” There’s a nervousness in Dynios’ voice that Prism isn’t used to hearing.
Prism keeps walking, picking a direction at random to head in, hoping to stumble across something, anything, that can give her a clue to where she has ended up.

“Maybe I am really close to a city and just got a bit off course.” She doesn’t believe her own words even as they escape her lips, but is trying to convince herself anyway. Its’ fine. Everything’s going to be fine.
“We’re in the middle of a forest. No people, no cities, no civilization. We need to find a way back, or to contact the Cobalt Soul immediately.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Prism snaps, surprised at the anger in her voice. She’s not cross with Dynios, not really, just scared and confused. This wasn’t part of the plan. She has no communication spells, no forms of transportation, and no idea what to do next. Hearing Dynios air his concerns isn’t helping right now.

She walks for an hour, maybe two, before finally spotting a faint glow of light in the distance. People!
Immediately, she starts heading towards it, energy renewed after a long and stressful day now that she finally has some hope.
“Wait, Prism!” Dynios whispers, insistently, “It may not be safe!”
She scowls at him, frustrated, “If you have any better ideas, I’d love to hear them. But I’ve been sent on a mission to talk to people, and I’m damned well going to complete it. It’s not like I have many other options anyway.”
With that, she begins marching decisively towards the light, which reveals itself to be a small campfire as she draws closer, calling out, “Hello? Is someone there?”

Entering the clearing, she sees a small group gathered round the fire, warming their hands and chatting. She breathes a sigh of relief. People, at last. They look up at her with a mixture of surprise and caution as she approaches. Part of her wants to just collapse down in a heap in front of the roaring flames and rub the soles of her feet, which are red and sore from walking in shoes that are definitely not appropriate for this terrain. But she has a job to do.
She strides up to the group and pulls out her scroll of Cobalt Soul approved questions.
Clearing her throat, she begins, “Hello, do any of you have time to participate in a short survey about the apogee solstice?”
The strangers’ eyes grow wider on hearing her question, and one of the party, a blonde dwarf covered in colourful tattoos, immediately exclaims, “F*cking sucked.”

Wow, strong feelings from the offset. Prism nods, happy for the enthusiastic response, and jots it down. Before she can continue her survey however, the group turns the questions around on her, asking her how she got here, where she’s from, if she has any information about the solstice. It seems these strangers have also fallen victim to the weirdness of the apogee solstice, having been shunted across the globe without warning, ending up stranded in the middle of the forest with no way of getting back.
After comparing stories, Prism decides the survey can wait. None of them have any form of teleportation, so it appears she is stuck here for the time being. Instead, she figures she might as well get to know the group of people she has unexpectedly found herself a part of.
It’s a strange looking group, that much is certain. Emon is a multicultural city, so Prism has come across people of all sorts of races and backgrounds throughout her time there. However, she has never come across a group quite like this one.

For starters, there’s Ashton, an earth genasi with green skin and purple amethysts for hair. Most notably, they have a large hole in the side of their head, filled with glass that shimmers and gleams as the light hits it. Prism swears that she occasionally sees colourful sparks fly inside their head, like bolts of electricity. It’s remarkably beautiful, and she has to stop herself from staring.

Then there is Laudna, who has skin as pale as Prism’s, bony limbs that look like they could snap at any second, and long black hair with a streak of shocking white. She has a somewhat unsettling presence, but rather than being put off by her ghostly appearance and demeanour, Prism finds herself admiring her and the way she holds herself – confident and unapologetic, despite what others may think of her. She has always been somewhat embarrassed of her goth-like looks, wishing her skin wasn’t quite so grey and lifeless, but Laudna embraces her appearance wholeheartedly, even using it to her advantage when she needs to be intimidating. Prism is sure she could learn a lot from her.
Laudna also has a familiar, who has the form of a flying rat, with a bird skull in place of a head, empty sockets for eyes and a long wiry tail. He reminds Prism of the rats she had to eat in the Shadow Realm to survive, and she supresses a shiver, remembering the tough meat and foul taste.

The first thing Prism notices about Orym is his eyes – older than they should be for one so young. He has the manner of someone who has endured unimaginable amounts of pain, but still soldiers on, determined not to let the world get the best of him. He is nothing but kind to Prism from the moment she arrives, smiling and supportive, even with the deep undercurrent of sadness Prism can feel rolling off of him like waves in a stormy ocean.

The blonde dwarf, who had been so enthusiastic in her review of the solstice, is named Deni$e, Prism learns, and has a confidence about her that lets anyone in the vicinity know immediately that she is not the type of person to be messed with.
Finally, there is Bor’Dor, a quieter man, seemingly a little unsure of himself, as he sits by the fire, looking into the flames with a solemn stare. He has been worrying about his brother, who is apparently sick at home with no-one to take care of him. Prism comforts him, assuring him that they will find a way back. It must be nice, to have someone to worry for, she thinks to herself. Although, looking at the state of Bor’Dor, maybe it’s better to have no-one, and avoid all the anxiety of not knowing if your loved ones are ok.

To add to Bor’Dor’s worries, he has just discovered that he can perform magic, which seems to have been one too many revelations for him on an already stressful day, and he has retreated in to a cocoon, knees curled up to his chest as he rocks gently back and forth, eyes wide as the others try and coax him into getting some rest.
Prism swallows down the jealousy that rises when she finds out that Bor’Dor didn’t have to study magic, having his powers innately with no prior training at all, while she has spent so long trying to perfect her own. She can’t hold any sour feelings towards him for long – he is just so scared and innocent, and she agrees to help him practice his new powers.

As Prism beds down that night, surrounded by her new acquaintances, she is surprised to notice that the knot she can feel in her stomach isn’t caused by anxiety, but rather excitement. She has found herself in a completely new place, with strange people, and no idea what tomorrow will bring, but rather than that knowledge filling her with fear, she goes to sleep eagerly awaiting the morning, and the adventure that will come with it.

Chapter Text

The past week has been crazy – with more action packed into a few days than Prism has known in a lifetime. Orym managed to work out that they are in Issylra, near the Ascendant Bridge Mountain – a whole new continent! They had battled terrifying plant creatures, freed a town from an oppressive religious organization, and travelled across vast amounts of wooded terrain full of monsters, terrors and thrills Prism could never have imagined before, back in her sheltered life in Emon.

She has been full of newfound energy, practically humming with excitement and nerves, delighted that she can finally put her spells to the test. Even though the battles have been terrifying, this is what she has always wished for – a chance to prove herself, explore somewhere new, be the strong, independent woman she always wanted to be.

Her new friends have helped her in that journey, encouraging her to be more confident, and embrace parts of herself she has tried to squash down for so long. After seeing Laudna transform into her form of dread: creepy, black tendrils of necrotic energy appearing around her as her limbs elongate and twist, a black veil appearing over her face as she morphs into a grotesque, unsettling form – she starts to feel less embarrassed about her own spooky appearance that used to get her bullied in school. As scary as Laudna looks, she also possesses a certain gracefulness, with beauty in the unmistakable power that emanates from within her.

She even gained the courage to give Summon Greater Demon another try, this time using the correct components. Their battle in the temple was the perfect chance, with bodies strewn about for her to collect blood from. It was awful, of course – all that death and destruction – but Prism can’t help the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction when she manages to summon a barlgura to carry out her bidding.
What is even more exciting, is that for her efforts she is gifted a scrying spell, something she had tried and failed to locate many times in the Cobalt Soul’s expansive library, and she didn’t even have to steal it!

They have all been missing their loved ones terribly, and Prism wishes deep down that someone was longing for her like that, knowing that most likely no-one in Emon had even noticed she had gone astray.
However, with love comes pain, as Prism is quick to realise, seeing the dark bags under her companion’s eyes after sleepless nights of worrying. Maybe she is lucky to avoid all that, having no-one she deeply cares about.

There has been plenty of time to chat with her new companions as they travel, learning about their lives back home and the people they left behind. Each of them has tales about the people waiting for them – although Bor’Dor doesn’t seem to like to talk about his brother much, and Deni$e, rather on the other end of the spectrum, can never stop complaining about her ex-fiancé Dariax, and appears to love to do so.
Ashton raves about a faun he knows called Fearne; “You would love her, she’s awesome,” he grins, “I can’t wait to pickpocket her,” (did Prism hear that right?), and Laudna talks her ear off about someone named Imogen she seems to be completely enamoured with.
“She saved my life. Well, we saved each other, really.”
“What is she like?”
Laudna gets a faraway look in her eyes, “She is…”, she pauses, looking for the right word, “She is light. My anchor. She’s the most powerful person I know. She gives me strength when I have none, keeps me going through the hardest of times, when all seems lost and hopeless. She is my hope. I don’t know where I would be without her.”
Prism thinks she sounds wonderful, listening to Laudna’s stories of how they met and subsequently decided to travel together. Laudna seems never to run out of compliments for her friend, who Prism is starting to suspect may be something other than simply a friend.

After she finally finds a moment to pull herself away from Laudna’s endless praising of Imogen, she makes her way over to Orym, who is walking alone a bit away from the group.
“Do you have someone waiting for you too?” She asks, immediately concerned her question is too forward after she asks it. She still struggles with social interactions, not knowing if her words come off as rude or abrasive without meaning to.
Nevertheless, Orym replies, “I did. A long time ago.”
“What happened?”
Orym looks up at her, wearing a sombre expression.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” she says quickly, “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s ok,” he takes a deep breath, “He was killed. By the same people responsible for all the sh*t that’s happening now. Every day I wonder, if only I had been a little bit stronger, swung my blade a little bit faster, would he still be here today?”
Prism isn’t sure how to reply, doubting there is anything she can say that can ease the halfling’s suffering. She lays what she hopes is a comforting hand on his shoulder, and they walk in silence for a moment.
“Every time he smiled it was like the sun shone a little bit brighter. Whenever I save someone from danger, and they give me a warm smile, right from the heart, it reminds me of him. It makes me want to continue down this path, as hard as it seems sometimes.”
She smiles down at Orym, “I’m sure he would be very proud of you.”
He smiles back at her, softly, “I know he is.”

As much as the past week has been full of highs and lows, Prism has loved the excitement, the danger, the thrill of the unknown, and most of all – the fact that she’s finally made a group of friends. They are completely unjudgmental of how new Prism is to all of this, praising her when she does well, and encouraging her when she feels down. She isn’t used to being around people who genuinely seem to care about her. So even through the sad moments, the stressful ones, the moments where she feels like all hope is lost, she can’t completely lose her smile.

While she walks, surrounded by her new friends, an old memory comes back to her – one she’s long tried to forget.
She is playing with her childhood friend, Lycel, running through the streets of Obleris, giggling. She grabs the blue tiefling by the hand and pulls her into a shadowy alleyway.
“Let me show you something,” Prism says, excited, as her friend looks at her confused and intrigued. She waves her hands and mutters the incantation she had sneaked a peek at on her last late-night visit to the bookkeepers. She thinks she can remember how it goes…
When the spell is complete, the pair watch as a small flame starts to grow from nothing, lighting up the dark alleyway, casting an amber glow on the two children’s faces. Prism grins, looking on in awe at the dazzling heat. It worked.
“Prism, it’s beautiful,” Lycel breathes, dancing orange flames reflected in her wide eyes as she stares, captivated.

But then, just as Prism starts to relax, beaming with satisfaction at her friend’s entranced expression, things start to go wrong. The second she loses concentration, the flame starts to grow out of control, sending out red hot sparks, hissing and crackling like an angry beast.
Lycel takes a step back in fear, “Prism, stop!”
But Prism doesn’t know how to get rid of the fire that is starting to fill the alleyway, flames licking at her heels as she stumbles backwards, back pressed up against the wall. She tries muttering the spell again, waving her hands to stop it, but all it does is make the roaring flames angrier, as they morph into something terrifying and uncontrollable.
Suddenly, a flame lashes out at Lycel, and she screams, holding her red, scorched arm, tears starting to flow down her cheeks. She turns to run, not stopping when Prism calls out, “Wait, Lycel! I’m sorry!”
The tiefling yells back over her shoulder, “I don’t want to play with you anymore!”
She looks back at Prism in silence, a terrified expression on her face. It suddenly dawns on Prism, that she isn’t just scared of the fire, she’s scared of her. Lycel runs away, not looking back, leaving Prism alone in the alleyway, flames finally dying away behind her as she sobs, regretting all of the stupid decisions that led her here.

As Prism walks through the forests of Issylra, she thinks back on her repeated attempts throughout her life to make friends. Time and time again, she tried and failed – putting on a big smile, saying the things she thought people wanted to hear. Eventually she came to the conclusion that the problem must be her. She would always be an outcast; she would never be accepted for who she was. So, what was different this time? Why were these people so willing to reach out to Prism, travel with her, exchange food and stories with a smile? Are they all just pretending? Or are they all just as messed up as her?

Her new companions have all been through so much, and yet they still push forward, the hope never leaving their eyes completely. Prism is inspired by them all, and knows deep down that these days spent with them will become precious memories one day, something that she will treasure forever as moments that have shaped her, led her to be stronger. She’s no longer the scared little girl she once was.

Then, on the last evening they spend together as a group, everything changes. Just as Prism thinks finally, finally, she has found a group of friends that truly care for her, she finds out that Bor’Dor has been lying to her, using her, pretending to need her help and taking advantage of her naivety, just to betray her. A deep hole opens up inside her, an emptiness that starts to eat away at her insides, before it starts to be filled again by pure, white-hot anger, fury unlike she has ever felt before. As she feels the acid from Bor’Dor’s Vitriolic Sphere eat into her, eyes drooping shut as she starts to lose consciousness, the last thing she sees is Bor’Dor’s haggard face, no longer the innocent sheepherder he pretended to be. She trusted him. She trusted him, and he lied to her. The world fades to black.

She wakes up just in time to see Laudna entering her form of dread, a purple glow emanating from her pupils as gnarled branches sprout from her body. She pulls herself to her feet as Laudna’s necrotic energy causes Bor’Dor to fall unconscious, and walks over to him, the pain of betrayal hurting more than the acid that still clings to her skin. She remembers that strange old man’s words at the temple, warning her to be careful, that her thirst for revenge could be her downfall. But then she looks at Laudna, sucking out the life energy from Bor’Dor, dark mourning veil covering her face, and she doesn’t see something shameful. She sees power, and beauty. She sees someone to be admired, someone who’s willing to do anything to protect her friends. She uses her powers not as a weapon, but as a shield, to help the ones most important to her.
Prism gathers all the strength she has in her body, and she punches Bor’Dor straight in the face.

Chapter Text

The tavern table is incredibly crowded, and Prism is feeling rather claustrophobic. She is sitting shoulder to shoulder with Laudna on one side, and a gnome called Chetney on the other. She is struggling to follow all the simultaneous conversations going on, and has settled on trying to laugh at the correct moments, her chuckles occurring half a second later after everyone else’s. She’s never been one for crowds.

After Bor’Dor’s death, the atmosphere in the group had turned sombre, only lifted by the prospect of them finding their friends again. Everything passed by in a blur after that, and now she has found herself in a tavern in Jrusar, sharing drinks with people she doesn’t know, and feeling slightly overwhelmed at the sudden change of pace.
It’s hard to believe the same people who had been so down yesterday are so jovial today, catching up with their friends with enthusiasm. What’s more, the change in atmosphere, and probably the alcohol that has been flowing for several hours now, has resulted in everyone seeming a lot more…flirty than Prism is used to.

Laudna and Imogen are giggling and glancing at each other in one direction, and Deanna and Chetney are very blatantly flirting in the other. Even the Aeormatons across the table are exchanging kisses! Prism, feeling very out of her depth, doesn’t know where to look.
She knows she is a bit behind her peers as far as romance is concerned, never having had crushes or even a passing fancy on anyone, but she’s always figured that would be a concern for a later date – that she was still far too young for anything like that. But looking around the table, it seems she is in the minority of people who feels that way.

The crowd and couples are getting to Prism, and she excuses herself to retire for the night. It has been an exhausting day of reunions and new people, and she is quite looking forward to getting to sleep in a proper bed for the first time in a long while.
She could have gone back to Emon, but after all she has been through in the past couple of weeks, she can’t imagine returning to her old life now. She heads upstairs and collapses on top of her bed.

Everything aches, even places Prism didn’t know could ache. She must be so fit by now though – all that hiking and fighting. She smiles to herself remembering all the excitement her adventure brought. And now she is in a new city – another new continent to tick off her list! After all those years of waiting, she’s suddenly found herself traveling all over the place!
She drags herself out of bed and walks over to the window, sliding it open and looking out over the rocky five spires surrounded by dense jungle. The climate is different here, much more humid than she is used to, and she soaks up the warm night air.

Mother lets out a squark and leaps off her shoulder, flying up to perch on the edge of the rooftop. Prism looks up at her: it’s not too far up.
She hoists herself up on to the window ledge and grabs the eaves with both hands.
“What are you doing now?” comes the indignant voice of Dynios as she swings a leg up onto the guttering to try and push herself up, “We’ve only been here half a day and you’re already up to mischievous antics.”
Prism ignores him and concentrates on pulling herself up. She manages to get her front half over the ledge, and wiggles her legs ungracefully so she can get fully up on to the roof. She sits next to Mother, dangling her feet over the side as she looks out at the view.

The stars are out, a surprising number of them visible even here in the city. Not as many as in Issylra though, where they splattered across the sky like a swarm of golden fireflies on a cave roof, creating light in the dark emptiness of the forest.
Ruidus is even more visible here, looking so close that Prism could almost touch it if she just reached out. She looks at the red beam of energy binding the moon to Exandria and chews her lip, nervously.

She has agreed to help out Bells Hells in any way she can, mostly by doing what she does best – sneaking into places she isn’t meant to be, and reading books. They’ve done so much for her, it’s the least she can do to repay them. Besides, the entire fate of Exandria might rest on it…

Morning arises, and Prism sets off towards the Starpoint Conservatory, feeling optimistic in her mission. She had said goodbye to her friends, wishing them well on their journey. She hopes they will be alright…
Deanna and Frida are to stay here with her, assisting in her research and carrying out their own investigations. They plan to stay in the Core spire today, talking to people about what’s been going on here since the solstice, and trying to find out more about the business at the excavation site. It’s funny, Prism thinks to herself, a couple of weeks ago, asking people about their experiences of the solstice was supposed to be her job.

This must be it; she thinks. An elegant building, with opulent fountains and large stone columns looms in front of her, grand and imposing. Her hat of disguise is placed firmly on her head, on top of the beret she is too attached to to take off, as she strides confidently up to the main entrance. She was practicing her southern accent all night, and thought it was sounding quite good – although Deanna had listened to it and stifled back a laugh, commenting, “Maybe try not to talk too much.”
She flicks her now-lavender hair over her shoulder and strides to the front desk, handing over the document allowing her (or rather, Imogen) access to the library.
The receptionist peers at the paper over her half-moon spectacles, and nods, “Very well Miss Temult, head on in.”

The inside of the Conservatory takes her breath away. Rows upon rows of books, stretching so high that Prism has to crane her neck to see where they end, stetch out in front of her. Students hang off tall ladders, reaching out to grab books from high up shelves. Prism feels dizzy just looking at them. A scribe meets her as she enters, offering their assistance in finding her whatever she needs. She rattles off a few topics and they scurry off to locate her requests. Wow – she never got this sort of treatment in Emon.

Walking leisurely down one of the aisles in the section related to deities and the primordial titans, she pulls out a book at random, opening it to a random page and taking a big sniff of the old pages. She’s missed that smell. She looks around to see people staring at her, and quickly puts the book back on the shelf, embarrassed.
She starts looking at the books in the section, picking out a couple that look like they could be useful. As she searches, one book catches her eye. It is simply called ‘The Duskmaven’, with the tail of the ‘n’ looping around elegantly before trailing off to form a drawing of a black feather. She pulls it out and starts to read.

The book details the complete history of the Matron of Ravens, from her original ascension to the current day, and has details on some of her champions. There is a section on a man named Vax'ildan who’s name rings a bell in the back of Prism’s mind.
She recalls learning about Vox Machina in school – they were a very important group of people in Emon’s history, who freed the city from the rule of the Chroma Conclave. She had no idea that one of their members was the Champion of the Raven Queen.
The rest of her afternoon passes uneventfully, with not many resources to be found on Predathos or the true power behind the red moon. It’s understandable – only a select group of people know the truth, and Imogen had told her previous searches for information hadn’t been very fruitful.

As the sun sets below the horizon, casting an orange glow onto the evening sky, Prism, FRIDA and Deanna walk up to a homely cottage covered in ivy, with grey smoke billowing out of its old stone chimney. In front of the cottage there is an array of colourful potted plants and herbs, and a large apple tree with fruit ripening on its branches.
Prism raps on the door and waits until an elderly woman opens it, “Can I help you?”
“Hello, are you Zhudanna? We are friends of Imogen and Laudna – they had to leave town but said we could stay with you for the time being.”
“Oh, of course! Those two are such lovely girls. I’d be glad to have their friends staying here. It’s always nice to have company.”
The woman leads them inside, leaning heavily on her cane, “I’m afraid I don’t have enough beds for the three of you…”
“Don’t worry Ma’am, I don’t require a bed,” inputs FRIDA.
Zhudanna turns to look at FRIDA, adjusting her glasses as she seems to take in his appearance for the first time.
“My, my, I don’t think I’ve met someone like you before. Oh, pardon me for being rude.”
“I get that a lot, Ma’am” FRIDA smiles.
“No need to be so formal, just call me Zhudanna.”

Prism sinks into an armchair with a mug of tea made using the herbs from the garden, letting her whole body relax. She didn’t realise quite how worn out she is from everything, even after a good sleep in the inn the night before.
“Miss Grimpoppy,” she is woken up from her doze sometime later by FRIDA lightly shaking her shoulder, “Dinner is ready.”
The food is delicious, and the bed provided for her is divinely soft. She never wants to leave.

She sits back on the mattress, leaning on the large pile of pillows Zhudanna had provided for her, feeding Mother some nuts and seeds out of her palm.
“Well, well, getting comfortable are we? Remember we are here to work, not have a vacation!”
“Ugh, can you let me rest for one minute, Dynios? I’ve been in Jrusar barely two days!”
“Who are you talking to?” Deanna walks into the bedroom, mug of warm cocoa in hand as she shuts the door behind her.
“Just Dynios, my spellbook. He can be useful at times but mostly he’s just annoying.”
“Oh…ok!” Deanna smiles uncertainly.
“He’s more of a father figure to me than a spellbook at this point. I suppose that’s kind of weird.” Prism chuckles, awkwardly.
“Well, I don’t know that it’s weird. My parents passed away a long time ago so I can understand the need for a parental figure in your life. You’re still very young.”
Prism nods, “My mother passed away when I was ten, and I never knew my father. It’s funny, despite all this effort we’re going to in order to save the gods, I’ve always held some resentment towards them. If they’re so powerful, why are so many people suffering and dying? Why couldn’t they help my parents? How come they’re in charge, making these decisions about life and death, while they get to rise above it, living forever?”

Deanna sinks down onto the mattress next to her, looking her in the eyes.
“Believe me, I have thought all the same questions, a thousand times. But then I think how life would be without them. Sure, they’re not perfect, but you can’t argue that they do put a lot of good into the world. There just happens to be a lot of suffering as well. Who knows, maybe they’re not as powerful as they’d like to make us believe. That could be why they’re so scared of Predathos.”
She pauses, closing her eyes and tipping her head back, “Either way, I feel like it’s my duty to help them in any way that I can. I owe a lot to them – especially since my death.”
“I’m sorry, did you say your death?”
“That’s a story for another time. It’s getting late, let’s get some sleep.”

Chapter Text

As Prism pours herself a cup of tea, through the kitchen window she spies FRIDA, sitting outside on the porch, alone. She opens the door and heads out to join them in the morning sun.
“I love you, FRIDA,” she hears FCG’s voice playing quietly from FRIDA’s speakers. They startle when they hear Prism approaching, and quickly turn it off.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says, blushing.
“It’s quite alright, Miss Grimpoppy.”

It’s hard to read the expression on their metal face as Prism takes a seat next to them, setting her breakfast down on the table and trying to think of something to say.
“You must miss him a lot.”
FRIDA looks at her with a small smile, “Terribly. But if the work we’re doing here can help him in any way it will be worth it. I’ll do everything I can to make sure he can return to me, safe and sound. It will be hard for sure, but I know that it’s for the best.”
Prism nods. FRIDA is so noble, putting their own happiness aside for the sake of the one they love. She can’t imagine having that sort of bond with someone, caring so deeply that you could be so selfless with your own desires, just to make their life a little easier.

After a moment spent in silence, she builds up the courage to ask, “How did you know you liked FCG? Romantically I mean.”
FRIDA thinks to themselves for a second, “Well, I had never met anyone like them – like me – before, and at first I was curious because of that: wanting to know more about them and where they were from, the life they’d lived. But then it turned in to more than that. I wanted to be around them all the time, touch them, hold their hand. It’s funny, I don’t have a heart, or lungs, but I still feel a dizzying clench in my chest when I think about them. Like a jolt of electricity – new and exciting, and a little bit scary. But mostly it feels like joy, and comfort. Safe, like nothing bad could ever happen when I’m around them.”
Prism is blown away by the depth of FRIDA’s love for FCG. The strength of their adoration is unmistakable, to the point where she doesn’t feel she can ask any more questions, for fear of treading where she isn’t wanted, sticking her nose into something that seems almost sacred.

Since her trip to the Starpoint Conservatory didn’t bring up much useful information, Prism decides that today she will head to the Ascension’s Rise University, in the hope that they might have something more worth her time. She is dressed in her Cobalt Soul uniform, pin badge proudly displayed on her blazer, her boots clacking against the floor as she walks up to the front entrance, trying to manifest an aura of importance. She has her cover story all figured out and is feeling pretty confident that she can weasel her way in.

“Good day,” she starts, standing up as tall as she can, “I am a high mage of the Cobalt Soul,” she flashes her pin badge at the bored looking receptionist.
“I have been sent here on urgent business and require access to your fine establishment immediately.”
“Papers?”
“Ahem, well you see…the Cobalt Soul has been in such disarray with the recent events regarding the solstice that they just couldn’t spare the resources to provide me with papers. You know how it is,” she sighs, trying to appear like a overworked mage who simply does not have the time to deal with this right now.
The man behind the desk looks at her disapprovingly, “Sorry Miss, I can’t let you inside without the proper paperwork.”
Shoot. This isn’t how it was meant to go. Prism racks her brain for something to persuade the man to overlook the matter on just this occasion, “Well, erm…you see…,” words fail her, and she stammers uncertainly.

Just as the man looks like he’s going to have her escorted out, she hears someone exclaim behind her, “Oh my gosh, it’s you!”
She turns around, and is shocked to see that stood behind her, dressed in casual black clothes, red-tipped hair brushing her shoulders, pierced elven ears poking out from behind her bangs, is the girl she had met in the library in Emon. She looks exactly the same as in Prism’s memory – even though they had only met the once, she had made such an impression on her that she would recognise her anywhere.
“Do you know this woman, Kerryn?” Asks the man at the desk.
The girl nods, grinning at Prism, “I’ll take care of her!” She links arms with her and leads her away from the desk, as the man goes back to his book, already losing interest.

“I can’t believe you’re here! It’s been so long – you haven’t changed a bit. Fancy that, I move across continents, to the other side of Exandria, just to see you turn up at my new job. The universe works in mysterious ways for sure!”
Prism can only stare, flabbergasted, as the girl jabbers on. This is not how she was expecting her day to turn out, and she can’t wipe the smile off her face as she watches the girl talk excitedly.
“Anyway, I don’t think I ever learnt your name? I’m Kerryn.”
“Prism.”
“What a beautiful name! Hey, my shift's over now, shall we go grab food somewhere?”

Several hours later, Prism is walking down the streets of Jrusar alongside Kerryn, belly full of good food, guffawing with laughter.
“Oh, we MUST go here, this place is great! The old owner retired – she had some sort of traumatic experience or something? I don’t know, anyway, the new owners are SO much better. It used to be super expensive here so I would never buy anything. The name is appropriate too,” Kerryn adds with a smile and a wink.
Prism looks up at the sign hanging over the shop door, grins, then follows Kerryn into the Prism Emporium.

When they finally emerge, hands laden down with shopping, the sky is starting to darken, and Prism is shocked that the day could have passed so quickly. She never had gotten round to going to the Ascension’s Rise and doesn’t want to go back to FRIDA and Deanna empty handed. Kerryn says she can probably get her access, “It’s breaking a few rules, but I’m not planning on getting caught,” she had said with a wink, but there won’t be time to do that today, now evening is already upon them.
She supposes she should head back and reconvene with the others, but she has had such a wonderful day, and has felt so useless lately, that when Kerryn invites her back to her place, she accepts with a smile. No one will miss her for one evening. It’s been refreshing to spend some time away from all of the stress, with someone who expects nothing from her, just her company.

Kerryn's apartment is modest, but respectable, kept clean and tidy with a few tasteful decorations here and there. She throws her bags down in the corner and tells Prism to make herself comfortable.
“I’ve got this whole place to myself, isn’t it great? I finally saved up enough to move out of my dad’s – now I feel like a proper adult!”
Kerryn plops down onto the sofa and pats the cushion next to her. Prism sits, feeling slightly awkward being in the house of a girl she basically just met.
“So tell me, how come I always find you sneaking into libraries? I can think of far more interesting places to break into.”
“It’s a long story…the first time was simply curiosity, but this time it’s because I promised some friends I would help them out.”
“Why can’t these friends do it themselves?”
“They had to leave town. They have lots of important work to do…so I stayed here to do some research”
“So, they just left you behind?”
Prism nods, “Well, I haven’t known them very long, and I didn’t want to impose…I think I’m better off here, really. What they’re trying to do is very scary, and very big. Bigger than me, bigger than all of us. I don’t think I can really explain everything, but…I want to help them out, any way that I can. And besides, now I get to explore this wonderful city!”

Kerryn thinks to herself for a moment, “Still, it sounds lonely.”
Prism looks over at her, “I suppose. But…now I’ve got you!”
Kerryn grins at Prism, a surprised but happy expression on her face, her cheeks tinged pink. Prism blushes, wondering if she’s gone too far. She barely knows the girl, and she’s acting like they’re close friends. Her day has been so special though, and they get along so well – it feels like they’ve known each other for forever.

A slightly uncomfortable silence follows, and Prism’s mind races as she starts to overthink everything, worrying she has been too familiar. However, all her racing thoughts stop the moment Kerryn reaches a hand out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, until all she can hear is the sound of her own heartbeat, thumping.
Thump. Thump. Her heart quickens as Kerryn leans towards her, eyes closing slightly. She pauses, and looks at Prism, a silent question in her eyes. Will she close the gap?
Thump. Thump. Prism is short of breath. Does she want this? Is she attracted to Kerryn in that way?
Thump. What should she do? Thump. Kerryn is waiting, she needs to decide. Thump.
She turns her head to one side.

“I’m sorry,” Prism lets out a small whisper, her face a bright crimson, a tight knot in her chest that she knows isn’t due to any sort of attraction. Kerryn immediately leans back.
Prism hides her face in her hands.
“Don’t be sorry! I just got a vibe that you might be interested, but I guess I read the room wrong. I should be apologizing to you!”
“I thought I might be, but…I don’t know. I’m confused.”
“Hey, don’t worry! These things can be super confusing, and I didn’t want to make you feel at all uncomfortable, or pressured to do something you don’t want to do. It’s totally fine, I promise.”
Prism peeks through her fingers at Kerryn. How can she be so lovely even after all of this?
“I really want to be friends though,” Prism says in a small voice.
“Me too! I had such a fun time today. Let’s hang out again soon, as friends, ok?”
Prism nods, relieved, and accepts the hug Kerryn offers her gladly. She didn’t mess up; she’s not going to lose her friend. She’s ok.

It’s late when Prism gets back to Zhudanna’s, and FRIDA is the only one still up as she shuts the door behind her, trying to move quietly through the old, creaky house.
“How was the library?”
Prism cringes, “Sorry, I got a bit sidetracked.”
“Things are going slowly on our end as well. Care to sit?”
She takes a seat next to the rose-gold Aeormaton, and they lapse into a comfortable silence as Prism thinks back on the day’s events.
“FRIDA?” She says finally.
“Hmm?”
Prism pauses, trying to collect her thoughts.

“Is everything alright?” FRIDA asks, a note of concern in their voice on seeing Prism’s troubled expression.
“It’s just…after our talk earlier, I was thinking. I’ve never experienced what you have with FCG, with anyone. I thought that I might have that sort of connection with this girl I met, but then when it started to become real, I knew I didn’t. I’m worried that there’s something wrong with me, that I’m broken.” Tears start to well up in her eyes.
“Look at me Prism,” FRIDA shuffles to face her, a firm expression on their face, “You are not broken. Don’t even think that for a second.”
They pause, “Have you considered the possibility that you could be aroace? Or somewhere on the spectrum? You don’t need to put a label on it, now – or ever, if you don’t want to. But having a word to describe what you’re experiencing can be helpful, I’ve found. Whatever it is, no matter what you are, know that you are not broken.”

The dam breaks, and Prism can no longer hold in her tears, as they flood down her cheeks upon hearing FRIDA’s words. She hadn’t realised how much she needed to hear that.
“It’s not fair,” she eventually chokes out, “I want to be like everyone else, and experience those wonderful feelings you described. How come I’m not allowed to have those things?”
FRIDA scoops her up into a hug, “I know. It’s so hard, and you’re allowed to feel this way. But you have your friends to support you, and there are other people out there experiencing the exact same thing. You are not alone, I promise. Everything is going to be ok.”
They murmur into Prism’s hair as she cries, repeating themselves over and over, until her sobs eventually come to a stop. “Everything is going to be ok.”

Chapter Text

Prism works her way up to the top of the Smolder Spire, heading towards the black stone temple that sits at its peak, a grand three-story building that rises tall above everything else on the spire. She walks up to the entrance, where a golden figure of a bird skull perches, and pushes open the heavy door. The interior is dark, candlelight flickering against the stone walls, casting eerie shadows that move and twist like strange beasts. She can hear the trickling of water and spies a waterfall flowing at the back of the cavernous space, the water casting a shimmering reflection, making the room seem to go on forever. She breathes in deeply, embracing the calmness. It’s been a while since she was at a temple belonging to the Matron.

Kneeling in front of the gently lapping water, she begins a whispered prayer, asking for the Matron’s guidance. However, midway through, she stops, trailing off mid thought. Is she even listening?
The Matron of Ravens, the one who presides over life and death, the goddess of fate and inevitability, who is currently facing down an oncoming storm of terror and destruction, is not going to care about Prism’s mumblings out of thousands of scared Exandrians, and come to her aid. If only she could properly communicate with her, have a two-sided conversation…

A thought comes to Prism. Blood magic, amongst its many uses, is often utilized by clerics of the Raven Queen in their worship. From her research, she can recall certain spells that claim they provide a way to speak with the gods. She has never had reason or the courage to try them out herself, but now, after successfully being able to summon and control a demon using blood magic, she has a newfound confidence in her abilities.
She pulls out a thin blade she has taken to keeping stashed in a sheath on her belt and cuts a thin line down the underside of her arm. There is a stone basin nearby that she assumes is kept here for exactly these purposes, as she spots flecks of dried blood on the base of the bowl. She lets the blood run down her arm and drip into the basin, closing her eyes to concentrate, focusing on her connection to the Matron and casting the spell.

As soon as she finishes the incantation, she feels her hair lift up around her, as a sourceless breeze wafts through the chamber, despite Prism being sure the temple door had slammed closed behind her. When she opens her eyes again, she finds she is no longer in the temple, but standing in a seemingly infinite space: no up, no down, just infinity. It’s dizzying – not least of all the goddess that drifts in front of her, enormous, awe inspiring, and like the space – infinite.
Her hair falls from her head in a cascade, with the appearance of a billion swirling galaxies, like creation itself. Golden threads of fate float in the air around her, swaying gently, even here in the nothingness. They stretch out boundlessly around her, Prism unable to see where they end. Everything about her is impossible. The Matron of Ravens.

She gazes at Prism, unspeaking, white porcelain mask covering her face giving her the appearance of a stone statue. Prism is so taken aback that she isn’t sure what to do, all words having left her. She attempts a respectful curtsy, gazing up at the deity that hangs in the space in front of her.
“Matron, I need your guidance. I want to help you, the gods, all of Exandria. But I’m just one elf, barely a proper wizard – what can I do? I’m scared, I don’t know how I can do anything against something of this scale. But I’m even more afraid of what will happen if I fail.”
The Matron regards her, unmoving and unblinking. Suddenly, Prism is whisked into a vision, someplace she has never been, but recognises immediately. The Tishtan excavation site.
The Malleus Key stands tall in the middle of the Hellcatch Valley, unforgiving, obsidian lens installed at the top of its intricate machinery. From it comes a terrible screaming, the sound of pure agony. Sand whirls around Prism furiously as she clamps her hands over her ears, trying desperately to block out the dreadful noise.

She finds herself back with the Matron, ears still ringing, the blazing red light from the Key leaving spots in her eyesight as she blinks the vision away.
“My Champion is suffering,” the gentle but authoritative voice of the Matron rings out, “Help him.”
Prism nods, her head pounding. Vax’ildan, the Raven Queen’s champion, former member of the legendary group Vox Machina, was trapped – his essence being used to power the Malleus Key. But how could she help him? She doesn’t bother to tell the Matron how small and useless she feels – she is sure it’s written plainly on her face.

She gnaws on her lip, thinking.
“I sense there is something troubling you, child.”
Prism hesitates, then works up the courage to ask the thing that has been bothering her for all these years, “Why didn’t you save my mother? I felt you there that day, in the temple. I had been praying for your help, praying for anyone to help, but still she…”
Her voice trembles as she continues, “You saved my raven, so why not her?”
“I choose not who lives or dies. My power is merely to provide safe passage for those souls ready to move on. Your raven was not yet ready, her soul barely hanging on to life by a thread. I simply gave her a push in the right direction. If it had been her time, I would have been powerless to change that,” The Queen of Ravens pauses, studying Prism, “I think her soul sensed something in you that made her want to stay – made her want to keep living, alongside you.”

Prisms chest clenches with emotion, and she forces back tears as she nods once more. She takes several slow, deep breaths, and says, “One more question. Are you scared? Of Predathos?”
Even though she can’t see any change in the Matron’s expression behind her blank mask, she can feel a change in the atmosphere immediately upon asking her question. Almost like…fear.
She is plunged into another vision, this one somehow even more horrific than the last. Fire, screaming, death. So much death. A vision of Exandria, of everything she loves, destroyed. When the vision ends, she finds the tears she had been managing to hold back earlier now flood down her cheeks, and her body is trembling. The Matron doesn’t speak, but the message is clear. If Predathos is released, it isn’t just the end of the Gods. It’s the end of everything.

She steps out of the temple, noticing that dusk has now fallen, and a cool autumn breeze blows through the gloomy smoke-filled air. She looks up at Ruidus, suspended in the darkening sky, glaring crimson light bold and intense – drowning out everything in the vicinity, the landscape a wash of red that reminds her of blood. The visions granted to her by the Matron flash through her mind, making her wince. She needs to get to work.

When she gets back to Zhudanna’s, she finds FRIDA and Deanna waiting for her.
“Hi sweetie!” calls Deanna.
“Good evening, Miss Grimpoppy.”
Prism smiles at them both and sits down, “Any luck today?”
FRIDA and Deanna look at each other, triumphant smiles on their faces, and Deanna looks back to Prism, “I think we’ve found something.”
They explain their discovery – it turns out one of the higher-ups in the city has been making frequent trips to the Tishtan excavation site, and after FRIDA spending the day trailing him, and Deanna asking around, it seems that he’s mixed up in some shifty business.
“So you think he could be part of the Ruby Vanguard?” Prism asks.
“Not sure,” Deanna replies, “But he must be involved with the business at the Malleus Key somehow. I reckon we break into his office tonight and see what we can find out. Maybe he has some information about what they’re planning to do next.”

Two hours later, Prism is creeping into a dark, moonlit office, pulling the door shut behind her. She casts an arcane lock on the door, hoping that will prevent her from being disturbed. Deanna is perched up on the roof outside, acting as lookout, while FRIDA scouts, trying to track the mage’s whereabouts.
She sneaks around the room, checking for traps as she searches through the drawers in his office desk. She rifles through the papers there, finding nothing incriminating. Well, he wouldn’t exactly leave his nefarious plans lying around for anyone to be able to grab. There’s one more drawer to search, but it’s locked, and Prism can’t see any obvious hiding places a key could be located.

Dynios hovers nervously behind her while Mother flies around, searching for anything hidden up high. She lets out a triumphant caw, and swoops down with a key retrieved from the top of the bookcase, much too high for anyone to see from the ground. Prism grabs it and grins, unlocking the remaining drawer. Yes! Exactly what she was looking for – notes on the Malleus Key, on Ruidus, and Predathos. As they suspected – he is involved in the plans!
She leafs through the pages, smiling.
“Right, can we please go now?” Dynios asks insistently. He had been worried about this plan from the get-go.
“In a minute,” Prism responds, “Keep looking for anything else hidden.”

Dynios is looking at the files stashed on the bookcase, and calls out with a note of concern in his voice, “Who did you say this office belongs to?”
“Err, Maddon something.” Prism replies, distracted.
“Maddon…Not Maddon Whitlock?”
“Yeah, that was it.”
“Oh no, oh dear, this is not good …Prism we need to go. We need to go right now.”
Prism ignores him, too engrossed in reading the papers to reply. Something has caught her eye in amongst the pages. She brings it to the window, using the soft white moonlight from Catha trickling through the glass panes for light, frowning as she reads.
At the top of the page, a name is written. Darrin Grimpoppy. Her father.

Chapter Text

Prism stares at name written on the page clutched in her hands, knuckles white as she grips the paper. Darrin Grimpoppy. Her father.
But how? Her father died years ago, when she was just a baby. Why would this guy have information about someone who has been dead for twenty years?
She skims the page, looking at the picture under the name – an elven man wearing a soft smile, dark tousled hair falling over kind brown eyes. The same kind eyes that appear in the photo she keeps by her bedside.

The document has all sorts of information about him: where he was born, his job, his family. Prism’s heart clenches as she reads the words: ‘Wife: Elana Grimpoppy. Deceased.’
Below, it reads, ‘Children: Prism Grimpoppy. Current location: Unknown.’
A chill settles over her. What is Maddon doing? Why does he know about her, a random elf from the shadow realm? This is starting to feel way bigger than it did when she first entered the room.

Dynios hovers behind her, reading over her shoulder, before exclaiming, “Prism, please! Let’s go!”
She can practically hear his teeth chattering.
“Caw, caw!” She hears Deanna perform their agreed upon warning call from the rooftop outside. Maddon is on his way. Mother lands on Prism’s shoulder, digging her claws in nervously. She squarks softly into her ear, tugging on her hair with her beak. But Prism can’t tear her eyes away from the page, staring at the picture of her father. Her mind is swirling with questions, completely lost in thought. She hears a quiet, ‘shit!’ from outside, followed by a thump, and rapid footsteps pattering away.
“Prism!” Dynios is frantic now, practically yelling into her ear, “We need to go! Right! Now!”

Bang! Before she can react, the door to the office flies open, arcane lock holding it shut dispelled. Prism flips her head towards the door, shocked, and quickly stuffs the documents into her bag.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Maddon Whitlock, a tall, slender elf, with long blonde hair starting to turn grey tucked behind his long, pointed ears, steps into the room, hair slightly damp from the evening rain.

The elf steps out of the shadows, towards Prism, and Dynios presses into her back, digging uncomfortably into her spine. She can feel him trembling against her, quite uncharacteristically.
“You look familiar,” Maddon starts, “Pale skin, pointed teeth…you must be from the Shadow Realm, yes? What is a young shadow elf such as yourself doing sneaking around my office?” He locks the door behind him, leaning his cane up against the wall.
Prism desperately tries to look for an escape route, but they are three floors up – too high to jump, and the window ledge is too narrow for her to climb up onto the roof.
She needs to buy some time.
“I’m your new intern! Just started today, actually. Thought I’d come and get settled in, familiarise myself with the place. I’m an insomniac, you see. Always up late.” It’s a rubbish plea, but it’s the best Prism can do under pressure.
Maddon stares at her intently, ignoring her hastily thought up excuse, “I’m sure I know you from somewhere. It’s on the tip of my tongue…”

He paces slowly, stroking his chin as he thinks. After a moment, he stops and turns to face Prism, a sinister smile on his face that makes Prism shiver, “Ah yes! Of course. You must be the Grimpoppy child! You look just like your father.”
“You know my father?”
“Oh yes, we go way back. How is good old Darrin?”
Prism stammers, “He…he’s dead.”
“Is he now? A shame.” Prism can’t sense a hint of sympathy on his voice, his crooked grin still not dropped, “And who is that cowering behind you? Is it…why, it’s Dynios, my old friend! How has that new body been working out for you?”
Dynios stays silent, shaking with fear as he hides behind Prism. How does this man know Dynios? And her father? Prism’s mind spins as she tries to puzzle together the pieces.

She shakes her head to clear her thoughts. Figuring this out can wait. She’s here on a mission – there isn’t time to get distracted.
“I know what you’re planning,” She raises her chin and tries to look brave despite the tremors that rack her body, her legs quivering in terror as she tries to plot her escape, “I know you’re part of the Ruby Vanguard, and I know you’re involved with the plot to release Predathos.”
“Clever girl. You have been doing your research, haven’t you? Well, you got me,” He rubs his hands over his eyes, a look of exhaustion suddenly coming over him, “You have no idea how important this work is. The gods have been looking down on us for far too long, dictating our every move, dictating our lives, our deaths. We’re just playthings to them, you understand? Once they’re gone, we’ll finally be free to live on our own terms.” As he talks, he gets louder and louder, his hands dictating wildly with passion, venom leeching into his voice. He truly believes what he says.

He takes a deep breath, and returns to speaking quietly, “You’re still young. There is a lot you don’t know. But I see potential in you. Join us – work together with me – and we can make this dream a reality. We can be in charge of our own lives for the first time.” He smiles at Prism, a hopeful look in his eyes.
She sticks her chin out, defiantly, “I will never join you!”
He sighs, the smile dropping in an instant, “Just as insolent as your father, I see. I gave him the same offer, and he stupidly refused. I thought you might have more sense than he did, but clearly not. Ah well.”
Prism sees his hand reach for his side, perhaps going for a weapon. Shoot. It’s time for her to make an exit.

Quickly, she casts invisibility before teleporting out into the corridor, not looking back as she sprints away, heart thumping loudly in her chest. She can hear faint footsteps behind her, but they slow down, clearly not thinking she’s worth the effort to pursue. When she gets outside, she leans against the stone wall of the old building, breathing heavily. Not long after, Deanna and FRIDA find her, their expressions full of concern as they run up to her.
“Thank goodness you’re ok! We saw Maddon coming back but didn’t see any sign of you leaving.” Deanna scoops her up into a tight hug.
“I’m fine. That was just…intense.”

As they walk back to Zhudanna’s, she explains what she learnt.
“So, you found information about some rebels trying to stop their plans?” FRIDA asks, “That’s great – maybe we can track some of them down, ask if they want to team up, perhaps? Can I see them?”
“Sure,” Prism grabs the list of papers from her bag and hands them over, but keeps hold of the one concerning her father.
FRIDA leafs through them, reading off names, “Beauregard Lionett, Caleb Widogast…there’s a load of intel here. It’s kind of creepy how much they know.”

Prism is only half listening – her eyes keep getting dragged back down to the paper clutched in her grasp. She takes time to read it more thoroughly now she’s out of immediate danger, and sees something she didn’t notice before. Right at the bottom of the page, in small text, are the words: ‘Status: Alive’

Back at Zhudanna’s, Prism paces her bedroom. Her father is alive? How could she not know this? Did her mother know?
Like always, she finds herself wishing her mother was here. She has so many questions. As if reading her mind, her raven settles on top of her head as she paces back and forth.
“Ok Dynios, you need to explain. How does that guy know you?”
Dynios hovers sheepishly in the corner of the room, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He had been awfully quiet ever since Maddon’s office.
“Well…you see…the thing is…”
“This is important, Dynios!” Prism snaps, “He not only knows my father, but knows he’s alive! He knows about me! You need to tell me everything you know. This is relevant to our research, and what’s more, I might be able to find him!”
She walks up to him, looking him straight in the eyes, “I want the truth, Dynios.”
The old book takes a deep breath, and meets Prism’s gaze, “Alright. The truth.”

“Your father and I have a long history. We were working together in Obleris on a mission for the Grim Verity. He was sort of like my student – young and full of energy. Always rushed into situations without thinking things through. Anyway, we discovered some classified information – something that would have destroyed the people we were investigating if it had got out. So they sent someone to make sure that wouldn’t happen, make sure we wouldn’t talk.”
His expression fills with regret, “They were waiting for us; we were completely unprepared. The last thing I remember is being severely wounded, bleeding out on the floor – inches from death. I tried to cast a spell on the attacker – Maddon, but he counterspelled, and retaliated with a curse of his own. Everything went black, and when I woke up, I was like this. The room was ransacked and there was no sign of your father. Blood everywhere. I assumed he was dead. Then, sometime later, a researcher from the Cobalt Soul found me and brought me to Exandria, where I sat in the library gathering dust ever since.”

Prism stares at Dynios, speechless, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I felt guilty. I was the one who pulled him into this mess, and it got him killed. Or so I’d thought. I was his mentor; I should have protected him. Protected you. When I saw the picture of him on your desk, all I could think was that it’s my fault you’ve been alone all this time.”
Tears well up in her eyes, laced with anger, “You could have spoken to me about it. You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”
“Prism, I didn’t…”
“I need some air,” she snaps, and storms out of the room before Dynios can plead his case.

She rushes into the empty kitchen, her blood boiling as she lets out a cry of frustration. He knew. He knew all this time, and he didn’t tell her. Fury threatens to overwhelm her. She can’t tell if she’s cross with Dynios, with Maddon, or the situation. She’s cross that he never said anything, cross that her father left her, cross that her mother isn’t here to answer any of the questions that rage like a tumultuous storm inside her.

She grabs a glass from the counter and smashes it against the wall, immediately cringing at the loud sound it makes, a feeling of guilt washing over her at breaking Zhudanna’s possessions.
Panting heavily as she stares down at the jagged shards, she picks one up, turning it over in her hands, rubbing her finger over its sharp edge. She raises it up to the light, angling it so the rays diffract through it, casting a rainbow on the kitchen wall that shimmers prettily as she moves the glass around. A memory flashes through her, one she hasn’t thought about in a long time.

She lies in bed, curled into her mother’s side, who absentmindedly strokes her hair while humming softly.
“Why did you name me Prism?” She asks.
“It was your father’s idea,” Her mother picks up a glass from the bedside table, holding it up to the light, “See how the light shines through it, just so? You give colour to our lives, Prism. A rainbow in a world of shadows.”
She caresses Prism’s cheek, “He always wanted better for you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you more.”
“You’re all I ever wanted, mother.”
Her mother smiles, kisses the top of her head, and continues humming softly, as Prism drifts off into a deep, comfortable slumber.
The last thing she hears before sleep overtakes her, is her mother’s gentle whisper, “I love you, forever and ever.”

Prism wipes the tears from her cheeks, before grabbing the shard of glass firmly, using it to trace a line up her forearm. As the blood drips down her arm, she concentrates on the image of her father’s face, and tries to cast scry, desperately hoping it will work, that she can find him. Suddenly, an image comes to her – a powerful storm, swirling red dust. A barren landscape, dotted with crimson rocks, and strange plants. A man walks through the storm, hood pulled up against the sandstorm. He turns, looking in Prism’s direction. It’s him. Her father.
She opens her eyes. She knows what she needs to do. She is going to Ruidus.

Chapter Text

Prism, FRIDA and Deanna are on their way to the Malleus Key, striding across the white-hot sand of the Hellcatch Valley, scarves wrapped tightly around their faces to protect them from the harsh grit-filled wind. Prism had told the others that they didn’t need to accompany her – that she’s got this, that they’re only putting themselves in danger. But they insisted: “We’re a team now,” they said, “We’re family.”
Even though part of her wishes they had stayed here on the relative safety of Exandria, she’s glad for their company. When Prism had explained her plan to them, she had worried they would think she was mad. Go to the moon, find her dad, meet up with Bells Hells, and save the world. Easy, right? As they walk in silence, the weight of her decisions rests on her shoulders like a heavy blanket she can’t remove. But there’s no turning back now – she’s come too far.

They’re close now, far enough away from the Tishtan excavation site to feel comfortable taking a rest stop, but close enough to feel on edge. If they get caught now, it’s all over, and all their preparations will have been for nothing. Prism takes a chug of water to soothe her throat which has been ripped red and raw as a result of the grains of sand that swirl around the desert air. She looks over at FRIDA who is sitting in silence, looking contemplative. He had become rather quiet of late.

She thinks back to the conversation they’d had last night, when packing to leave:

“Are you doing ok, FRIDA?” She had asked softly, concerned about her friend and their headspace, especially when they were just about to head into the unknown and needed to be completely focused on the tasks ahead.
“I am just worried about Faithful Care Giver. They have such a tendency to rush into things, jump into the fray when their friends are in danger. They always put other people before themselves, I just don’t want them forgetting that they need to keep themselves safe too.”

Ah, of course. No wonder FRIDA had been so distracted recently. It had been less than a fortnight since Bells Hells had left on their mission, but it felt like forever. So much can change in such a short time, it’s no wonder they were concerned.
Prism offered them a comforting hug, “You know, there is a way we can check on them,” She pulled out the lock of hair she had received from Orym and poured some water into a bowl, “I’ve only tried this once before, but I think I remember how to do it.”
FRIDA looked on in amazement as Prism gripped the lock of hair tightly and started to cast scry. It’s not an easy spell – taking a lot of energy and concentration to get right – especially if the target is as far away as the moon.

She traced her fingers across the surface of the water and an image started to appear in the ripples. FRIDA leaned in closer.
“Is that…them?”
The vision, despite being shaky and transparent, showed Bells Hells resting in some sort of cellar, alive and well. FRIDA breathed a sigh of relief.
“See, they’re all ok. I mean, they’re so powerful, I don’t think we need to worry. I’m more concerned about our chances without them!” said Prism.
FRIDA smiled appreciatively, “Thank you, Prism. It means a lot,” they paused, thinking. “You know, I often wonder how such a nice girl can come from such a dark place. You have had to deal with so much hate and negativity but still manage to remain relentlessly positive. I admire that about you. It reminds me of Faithful Care Giver and their ability to always look on the bright side of things.”
Prism blushed furiously. FRIDA has such a way with words, always knowing exactly what to say – complimenting others and boosting morale during tough times.

“I get it from my mother, I think. She was always trying to stay positive, always smiling and joyful no matter how bad things were. Keeping a happy face on for me, so I didn’t worry.”
FRIDA nodded and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, “You’re making her very proud.”

Rested and ready to head off again, the weary travellers stand up, dusting the sand off their clothes and getting ready to carry on trudging through the unforgiving desert dunes, sweating under the baking heat of the midday sun. They had only been walking for ten minutes, when FRIDA stops abruptly.
“Something’s wrong.”
Deanna and Prism both look at him, confusion turning to concern when they see the horrified look on their friend’s face.
“Something has happened to FCG. I can feel it.”
Prism immediately starts preparing the scry spell, feeling the urgency in FRIDA’s voice.

Sand starts to swirl around them, whipping their face as it whirls in a miniature sandstorm. In the midst of this tumultuous flurry, small figures become visible in the sand, almost like an apparition. The scene that appears before them shocks the group of travellers to their core. Bells Hells, bloody and bruised, face a woman – tall and imposing, clothed in dark leathers and a thick cloak, swords in both hands, drawn and ready. Several of the party lie still on the ground, and Prism can’t tell if they’re alive or dead. Suddenly, FCG darts towards the grey-haired woman, grabbing her arm tightly as he grins with a piercing red-eyed smile. Then, the explosion. When the dust settles, Otohan is gone, but so is FCG.

It’s all over so quickly, Prism struggles to piece together what she just witnessed. Everything had been fine last night, how could it have gone downhill so quickly? The sound of FRIDA wailing pulls her out of her thoughts. He lets out an anguished cry, a gut-wrenching sound that is almost animalistic, like nothing Prism has ever heard come out of the ever kind and gentle Aeormaton. Deanna rushes over to him, trying to hold him, comfort him, but he seems completely taken over by something – entirely consumed by insurmountable grief.

“I should have been there for him, I should have protected him,” he sobs. He continues to wail, a sound so painful, so furious, that Prism has to fight the urge to put her hands over her ears, as he starts punching and pounding at the rocks nearby, seemingly unable to control himself in his rage. Prism reaches out towards him, unsure how to calm him down. If someone hears him and they get caught now, this will all have been for nothing.
“Shh, shh,” she utters desperately, hugging him tightly as he shakes with grief. Deanna is standing completely still, face pale, shocked tears streaming down her face. Another pained moan from FRIDA seems to snap her out of it, and she rushes over to them, embracing him – pulling him close and stroking the top of his metal head as he sobs tearlessly into her chest. She doesn’t speak – what could she possibly say in this moment that could help? FRIDA lets out another anguished howl, seemingly unable to calm down despite Deanna’s best efforts to sooth him.

Deanna looks to Prism, desperation in her eyes, “You need to go. I’ll look after him. You’ll miss your chance if you don’t go now.” Her voice is laced with urgency. “You’re strong, Prism, you are brave and you are capable. You can do this. Go.”
Prism is torn. She wants to stay with her friend, comfort him through the unimaginable torment he is facing, but Deanna is right. It’s now or never. So, she nods with tear-streaked cheeks, stands up and leaves, not looking back as the sounds of FRIDA’s sobbing gets fainter and fainter in the distance.

Eventually, she gets to the edge of the Malleus Key. Wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks, she pulls herself together and reminds herself of what she needs to do. There’s no time for hesitation now.
She sits at the edge of the excavation site, invisible, and surveys the landscape. She watches the movement of the guards closely, waiting for her moment. She’ll need to be quick.
She finally spots an opening and creeps out from her perch, treading carefully to avoid leaving footprints in the fine golden sand. Moving quickly but cautiously, she climbs the stairs leading up the black metallic spire, at the top of which sits a black pulsing orb, thrumming with energy.

As she gets closer, she can feel the pull of the red beam that erupts out of the orb, arcing up into the dusk sky in a scarlet trail leading all the way up to Ruidus. Walking up to the dark orb, she reaches her hand out slowly until it is only a couple of inches away. She is shocked by the pang of searing pain that lances through her as she nears. She can feel the Champion’s suffering, a stab of agony like lightning dancing through the air and piercing her chest. Against her better judgement, she closes the distance and places her palm flat against the orb. Blistering white-hot pain rushes through her, as if she had touched a sizzling stove, but she can’t pull her hand away. She muffles a scream, eyes clenched shut in agony.
Suddenly, the pain is gone.

Slowly, she opens her eyes. She is shocked to see that she is no longer at the Malleus Key – her surroundings now consist of the interior of some kind of temple – towering black pillars rise up out of a polished obsidian floor. Her footsteps echo as she walks, turning slowly as she tries to orientate herself. How did she get here? Last thing remembers was reaching out to the orb at the top of the Malleus Key, then blinding pain, then nothing.

Out of the corner of her eye, a figure catches her attention, standing at the top of an ornate set of stairs near the back of the room. He makes no noise, and she hadn’t noticed his presence at all until now. She stares, mouth agape. It’s him.
She drops to one knee, in awe of the legend that stands in front of her, “F-forgive my intrusion, my champion!” she stutters.
The Champion of Ravens, Vax’ildan, stares down at her and raises an eyebrow, “That’s…really not necessary,” he blushes slightly and coughs uncomfortably.
“How did I get here?” Prism asks, her voice a hushed whisper.
“You’re still in the same place, physically – your body hasn’t moved – but your soul has travelled. I assume it’s a blessing from the Matron – granting you a vision,” he smiles sadly, “Welcome to my prison.”

Prism’s mind takes a moment to take this in, reeling with information. Why has she been granted a vision? What does the Matron want her to do? She thinks back to the words the Raven Queen had spoken to her during her last vision: “My Champion is suffering. Help him.”
She looks up at Vax, determination in her eyes, “I want to release you, to be of service. What should I do?”
“If the contraption keeping me here is broken, it should be enough to release me. But you mustn’t set me free yet.”

Prism frowns, confused. Does he not wish to be free, rather than experiencing an eternity of unrelenting torture? Even now, she can feel waves of pain rolling off of him. Despite his calm and collected expression, a slight tightness around his jaw, a small twinge at the corner of his eyes betrays him, as he tries to keep his face neutral. He’s in agony. Stuck in a continuous loop of endless suffering.
“I…don’t understand.”
“All of the people fighting on Ruidus right now – they will need a way back home. They need me here, keeping the pathway open. I have to remain strong until them, to protect them,” he gets a faraway look. “To protect her.”
“Her?” the question slips out before she can stop it.
Vax’s expression is distant, unreadable. He mutters a name, quietly, reverently, “Keyleth.”

Prism isn’t sure who this person the Champion speaks of is but can tell from his tone they must be of great importance to him. She nods in understanding.
“As soon as Predathos has been secured and everyone is safely returned, I will find a way to release you. You have my word.”
He smiles fondly, “Thank you.”

Prism blinks, and finds herself back at the Malleus Key, finding herself with a renewed sense of determination. Out of her pocket, she pulls out the glossy blue-black feather given to her by Friedvik, admiring it as she remembers the note he had given her: ‘For your future adventures and stories yet unwritten.’
“Oh boy, this is going to be one big adventure,” she smiles, takes a deep breath and jumps into the scarlet beam.