As magicians grow older, magic builds up in their bones and ultimately transfers to their lineage in surprising ways. Their offspring are often gifted with subtle abilities. These manifest in a variety of ways; however, the most common are an affinity for the magic arts or the ability to sense emotions over great distances from powerful otherworldly forces. In rare cases they can sense the connections between kirins and their masters. This requires a child to have a heritage of potent magical might.

Do not envy these children. They will forever be magnets for forces beyond their ken.

- Kasheen Maizen, Professor at the Pentacle

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The first rays of the morning twin suns burned Kestrel's shade form painfully. He desperately needed a temporary host, or he would soon disappear forever.

He searched the ground as he flew over rolling, forested countryside toward a white stone city in the distance. His wraithlike presence passed over the treetops, and its shadow flickered up and down across the uneven foliage.

As he flew, Kestrel saw something that intrigued him, earning a closer look. A huge creature with fur as dark as obsidian lumbered through the woodlands on all fours. It had the shape of a man but was nearly twice as tall and three times as bulky.

Kestrel swooped down and enveloped the giant in his deep blue shadow form, embracing it silently as their wills melded together. Moments later the dark hulk stood upright, and a sadistic smile full of ivory teeth split its face like a crescent moon.

"And now...to Diametriessssssss!" Kestrel growled from within his new body. He bounded through the woods toward the white city with hardly a rustle.

Near the glen where Kestrel's new host had been found, sunlight streamed through the trees and caused the dew to sparkle in the morning rays. Birds began chirping as the light graced their feathers, and a vibrant rainbow dipped from the sky to the forest in a tribute to the rising twin suns of Therra: the big, yellow one called Sol and the smaller, red one, Sul.

A falcon perched in its nest, preening its brown-and-white speckled feathers as it prepared for the hunt. It looked to the sky as the two suns crested the horizon. The bird of prey flapped its wings experimentally, keened into the crisp morning air, and took off toward the clouds. It flew higher and higher till it could see the entire land.

A rolling forest stretched into the distance. Not far away loomed a tall, majestic, white stone mountain with a large city at its base, which was within the falcon's hunting territory.

The city was enclosed on all sides by an unusually perfect circular wall constructed of smooth, white stone. The structure contained three concentric grooves in the ground. This pattern of roads was repeated with three smaller circles that connected to one another at the center of the city, where a large tower rose up like a monolithic tribute to a lost civilization. Unlike the circular roads, walls, and tower, the city's other buildings were a motley and compact assortment of houses and shops made of various materials.

Near the western section of the city was a large wound in the ground. It was as if a titanic force had ripped the soil open from beneath and revealed a seemingly bottomless chasm below.

The sharp-eyed falcon focused its attention on a small mouse that was perched next to a potted plant on a window sill and greedily gobbling a little piece of cheese. The hungry raptor dived through the clouds, rocketing toward its prey. Just before impact it let out an ear-shattering keen, extending its wings and thrusting out its claws to grasp the mouse. The little rodent died instantly, and the falcon began to tear into its meal and pull it asunder.

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The serene realm of dreams was disturbed.

The dreamer tossed in his sleep as the veil was lifted and the portents were revealed in full.

Something was coming. A righteous presence opened a wall and gave birth to an evil that raked across the unconscious mind like a rusty blade. It was a thing of grasping blue claws and malicious intent, headed straight for Deiyil, the white stone city. It was getting closer and closer.

Another being emerged. It was a human form of white mist with piercing green eyes like faceted moldavite. This was a thing of mystery and veiled intent. It followed close behind its dangerous brother.

The blue-clawed shadow swooped down on an unsuspecting creature, shattering its mind, and then disappeared from view.

The dreamer became acutely aware that he had been spotted. The green-eyed being turned and rushed toward him. It seemed to envelop his entire world as it reached out.

The dreamer looked for an escape, and it seemed as if all was lost when he was suddenly thrust into the waking world by a high-pitched scream.

Penndarius's eyes snapped open in surprise at a high-pitched, piercing sound, followed by a loud thud on his windowsill. As his eyes adjusted to the morning light, he blinked and focused on the bird just outside his window.

"Good morning to you, too," he grumbled.

The falcon looked over and blinked at Penndarius.

"Well? That is breakfast, right?" he continued.

The bird glanced down at its meal and then took off with it into the sky, leaving Penndarius still feeling thoroughly startled and with the beginnings of a headache.

Penndarius wiped tears of sleep from his eyes, yawned, then looked around and snuffled away his drowsiness. He sat up, threw the covers to the floor, swung his legs off the bed, stretched, and stood up. The rich, oak-paneled floors let out a homely creek.

The suns, Sol and Sul, shone through the window, and Penndarius scowled at the light.

"Ugh...my head!" he groaned and ran his hands through his hair.

The room was modest. There was a bed under the window across from the door, a desk against one wall, and a dresser against the remaining wall. A razor rested next to a bowl of water and some soap for shaving, as well as a bristle hairbrush.

The oak dresser was topped with a mirror large enough for Penndarius to see the upper half of his body. He turned his head from side to side and examined the stubble that had grown overnight.

His rather square jaw was coupled with a slightly rakish tilt to his smile, and laugh lines were engraved in his face, along with an essential tranquility and the spark of intellect. He was a bit taller than most young fellows and of average build. His skin was pale from working indoors, but the highlights of his appearance were the serious, inquisitive hazel eyes that seemed to hold the insights of one well past his years.

Penndarius dipped the soap into the water basin on the dresser and rubbed some lather into his other hand. He applied it liberally to his face, rinsed off his hands, and proceeded to shave. Then he multitasked by alternately brushing his short brown hair out of his eyes. A few quick swipes with both implements, and he was almost ready.

The door flew open with a loud bang. The sudden interruption startled Penndarius, and he nearly cut his cheek, but the smell of fresh-baked biscuits tickled his nostrils pleasantly.

"Rise and shine, Penn, m'boy!" an older man yelled from the doorway. He was short and stout, with broad shoulders, and his skin was tanned. Laugh lines were imprinted on his face in deep creases, like craggy hills, and he looked as though he was just two beers short of an even broader smile. Around his waist was a bartender's apron, covering a plain white shirt and long, brown britches.

"Douglas, I almost slit my own throat!" Penndarius yelled in protest.

"Aye, and it might have helped your mood if you’d carved a smile into yer mug," Douglas said with a hearty laugh. He leaned in and examined Penndarius's face. "Are ye all right, lad? Ye look like ye’ve been touched by the other side."

"I had an avian visitor early this morning that decided to hunt for mice in my potted plants," Penndarius explained with a weary chuckle.

"Aye, they be partnerin' with roses nowadays," Douglas teased. They can be mighty feisty creatures, me boy. Never underestimate them...sneaky buggers, even lying in soil. Mark my words, boy! Thems is the harbingers of doom."

"The world is ending, and me without any clothes. Is there anything else?" Penndarius asked.

"Just came in to talk with my friend Penndarius Grey…." Douglas stopped as if he were trying to remember something.

"Greyson. We agreed not to use my real surname, remember?" Penndarius reminded him.

He gave Douglas a pointed look.

"And ye thinks this'un be better? But yer pa made sure ye were well taken care of. That means somethin', don' it?" Douglas asked ingenuously.

Penndarius sighed. "He and I have a relationship that works better at a distance."

"Aye, I ken yer meaning. Before I go, what've ye got planned fer the day?" Douglas asked.

"You know the area called the Scar, right?" Penndarius responded as he began pulling clothes out of the dresser.

"Creepy place, that. Always gives me the chills, like somethin' be breathin' under there," Douglas said with a shiver.

"Well, there is a team investigating it, and I have been trying to get on it for months. They finally got back to me recently and wanted a tracing of a tablet deciphered. I did it and sent it in. Apparently my first translation was good enough that they sent me another," Penndarius remarked, proud of the fruits of his labor.

"That what you been working on, lad?" Douglas asked. "I been wondering where you had gone."

"My training in ancient languages has come in handy, since none of the current team had any idea what this thing said."

Penndarius's desk was a disorganized mess, spread over three tiers and into four drawers that were so full that they could not close, what with scattered parchments, notes, and other oddities from past and present projects. He handed Douglas a sheet.

"What is it, boyo? Can make no sense o' it. Looks like a bunch o'gibberish to me, lad," Douglas said as he skimmed the current work from the tracing.

The scholar pointed to various markings. "It appears that tablets like the one this tracing was taken from were made to store the knowledge of an entire lost civilization, but they left enough reference material behind for investigators like me to decipher some of the contents."

Penndarius circled parts of the tracing with his finger as he explained. "This area refers to Deiyil." He pointed at another part of the tablet. "These markings here are landmarks in what I think was also Deiyil, thousands of years ago. For example, here is a place we've dubbed the Living Tower, which people call the 'silver tree.' Long ago it held a great amount of ritualistic significance."

"That be some pretty weighty stuff, lad," Douglas remarked. "What did ye think about it all?"

"It was a bunch o' gibberish," Penndarius quipped pulling on his trousers.

Douglas laughed so heartily that his beard shook with mirth. "Well played, lad! I can tell today's goin' to be a good day fer ye. Have some fun with it! Speaking of fun"— he leaned over secretively—"are ye goin' to find yersef a lady friend?" He leered at Penndarius. "Yeah? Yeah?

Have a little fun?"

"Get out!" Penndarius chuckled. "I have to go meet Ed and Gale." "Gale?" Douglas asked with a quizzical grin.

"Get out!" Penndarius pushed him toward the door.

"Ye get yerself down there fer breakfast. I won't have ye go out with an empty stomach," Douglas said as he stomped out.

The young scholar laughed to himself as he closed the door. He finished dressing, buttoning a brown jerkin over simple earth-colored pants, then grabbed his satchel from a nearby stool and wrapped his notes and the tracing in linen before stuffing them carefully into his bag.

As he left the room, Penndarius glanced down the hall and saw three figures clad in black cloaks. Hoods hid their features, but he could see that they wore silver moon-and-star pendants on their lapels, which stood out against the dark cloth. The scholar's keen eye caught sight of angular lumps under their cloaks, and he knew they were carrying weapons. As a habit, he made a point to record mentally everything he saw, even when he had no reference to attach it to. He shrugged and headed toward the stairs.

Penndarius had almost reached the stairs when he heard crashing coming from an adjacent room. He looked left and right and then opened the adjoining door. Inside, a man was lying on the floor, apparently unconscious or asleep but struggling against some unseen horror and crying out in pain.

The room was set up like Penndarius's, with a dresser on one side, a bed across from the door, and a desk against the other wall. Although curtains were drawn over the windows, some illumination filtered in through the gloom. Dust hung in the air, and particles sparked in the streaming light.

The man on the paneled oak floor was convulsing, rolling back and forth in agony as he seemed to fight monsters in the shadowy realm of dreams. The stranger's fight against his nightmare reminded the scholar of his own experience not long before.

Penndarius sprang forward. "Hey!" he yelled and straddled the man to grab his shoulders.

"Come on...wake up!"

It was not easy for Penndarius to hold the dreamer still. He was far stronger than a normal man, despite his slender build. The scholar could only ride it out as he tried to keep the apparent horrors of the man's fantasy from resulting in permanent damage to the room or, worse, to the dreamer. 

- End of Episode -

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