Seifen’s eyes had only now managed to adjust to the darkness. He has been hovering in the indistinguishable nothingness for a while, his legs dangling somewhere. The sensation was extraordinary, since he couldn’t even tell whether his legs were located beneath the rest of his body. In fact, for all he knew, he could have been suspended upside down or even sideways, since this plain of existence didn’t adhere to any of the rules of space and time, most especially time.

In the corner of his eye, Seifen detected something moving in the distance, and a flicker of white light enveloping the form of a young woman. His captor.

She raised her finger and Seifen could feel his body being hurled towards her until his face but inches away from hers. It appeared that his assumption was correct, and he was indeed suspended wrong way up. Or perhaps, Seifen thought, watching the woman’s bright violet eyes, brimming with childish satisfaction as she swam upside down in the sea of the abyss – she was upturned and he, upright.

Her hair, far longer than his eyes could gauge, was flowing like a pure white stream, seemingly just as endless as the space he was trapped within.

Seifen was jilted awake. His heart pounding violently in his chest, each heartbeat so frantic he could practically feel it in his ears. The same dream that haunted him every night always ended just as abruptly as it began. Seifen’s eyes narrowed. The sun had barely risen but he was still blinded. He massaged his temples and stood up from his bed. His room was bigger than most students in the academy, and he didn’t have to share it. This was due to the questionable privilege of being the only student to study under Tatsuma Zaizen. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Seifen thought to himself, slightly amused. He pressed down on the electric kettle located in the small makeshift kitchenette at the edge of his room. He took out the only two mugs he had out of the handcrafted cabinet, filling one of them with tea leaves and the other one with instant coffee, since Zaizen couldn’t taste the difference anyway.

Seifen made his bed and barely had time to brush his teeth before he could hear a loud knock on his door, “harmonizing” with the gentle hum of the warmed-up kettle.

“Seifen! Open up!” Zaizen’s voice thundered in the halls. This was of course just one more example of his teacher’s utter disregard for pretty much everything and everyone. Seifen opened the door and Zaizen took a bold step in.

“Good you’re up.” Zaizen smiled, two rows of perfectly white teeth sparkling, and Seifen couldn’t help but smile as well. After Zaizen’s vocal arrival, every tenant in the male student quarters would have woken up as well.

“What is it this time?” Seifen filled Zaizen’s coffee mug with hot water and handed it to him.

“This time?!” Zaizen repeated after Seifen, his coffee threatening to spill from the sudden movement.

Seifen smiled, bringing his own mug to his lips, “I only meant to ask how I may be of assistance to my mentor.”

“Better. I did not raise you to have an attitude.” Zaizen smiled, completely placated. He swallowed the entire content of the cup in one sip and placed it on the nearest flat surface in Seifen’s room which happened to be a thick book.

“One might even say you did not raise me at all.” Seifen removed the cup from the hard cover, watching as the corners of Zaizen’s mouth dropped almost cartoonishly into a scowl.

The council of mages, known to him from a young age as the Aegis, was the supervising body of all mages. The Aegis was also the exclusive benefactor of the magic education facilities, most especially the Academia, to which the council’s building was adjacent to. Or perhaps, Seifen mused, it was the other way around. The Academia was built in the council’s backyard, so to speak, and the mages studying within its walls were for the Aegis to command, for as long as they were enrolled in the academy.

The council building itself was more than four hundred years old, built in the style of renaissance architecture and grafted to the previously prevalent Gothic forms. It was square and symmetrical, supported by tall columns. Several arches surrounded the courtyard, beyond them, a brightly colored square door that towered above Seifen and Zaizen. Above the entrance was a large keystone bearing the council’s sigil.

Seifen opened the heavy door, Zaizen following him. The door shut behind them and Seifen suddenly heard the rough sound of tearing fabric. He looked towards Zaizen, the source of the noise, the red cloak Zaizen usually wore on his back that marked him as both a mortal mage and as an instructor in the academia seemed to be stuck in the doorway.

“I hate this stupid thing. Do you know it’s not even the first time this happened?” Zaizen growled, removing what was left of the fabric from his neck and threw it on the floor where he stood, met with Seifen’s disapproving look.

“Fine.” Zaizen relented. He turned his hand towards the discarded fabric and the cloak turned into light smoke, “Better now?”

Seifen hurried to cover his mouth, “Is this even breathable?” he muttered, proceeding to hastily walk away from the gray fumes spreading in the entrance hall.

“I have no idea.” Zaizen answered and picked up the pace, closing the distance between him and Seifen, until they both stood in the hall leading to the council’s tribunal.

“Can you?” Zaizen gestured to his back. Seifen nodded and the red cape was once again flailing behind Zaizen, “I hate when the hag nags me, or even worse, that idiot Vla –”

“I would watch my tone if I were you.”

Seifen and Zaizen turned around, a man around his thirties approached them. His hair was dark red, just a shade lighter than Zaizen’s, and he wore a similar cape, only his bore the symbol of the council and not the academia.

“Eogen!” Zaizen cried out, grabbing the older man in a quick one-armed hug.

“You know the old man’s ears are sharper than a sound mage.” Eogen smiled, scratching his scruffy beard and led them into the meeting room.

The seats of the council members were on top of a platform, they sat around the table in the shape of a half an octadecagon with its inside hollowed out. This would allow a person to stand right where the center of the table would have been, effectively surrounded by the nine members of the council, who each sat in front of their respective convex. This was strange in its own right, Seifen thought, since it has been quite a long while since all councilmembers were in attendance.

Eogen took his seat, in front of his side of the polygon hung the flag of the body magic Genus. The red and ivory flag bore the golden Colainn crest, the ruling lineage of the body Genus. This was the only flag in the room that hung twice, as it was also suspended in front of the matriarch of the Colainn family, Alleria, who was rumored to be over one hundred years old didn’t look a day over thirty. With porcelain white skin and deep red hair, wearing a dark orange blouse with a nipped in waist and voluminous sleeves. Her cloak wasn’t affixed to her collar, instead it rested on her shoulders like a shawl. She fixed the positioning of her glasses on the tip of her perfectly straight nose and looked over Seifen affectionately.

“You’re late!” Vlasis cried out, and Seifen couldn’t help but notice that that turquoise and white flag that hung before the head of the Air Genus was just a little bit bigger than the rest of them. “This is an emergency!” Vlasis’ voice rose up an octave, and Alleria rolled her eyes and mouthed something dangerously resembling ‘damn baldy’.

“I’m sure both Seifen and Zaizen know what’s at stake.” Tarek, the de-facto head of the Lightning Genus, usually played peacekeeper to Vlasis and Alleria since Tarek had the unfortunate luck of being seated in between the two. His long black hair was tied in a loose knot on his back, and his eyes were light blue and razor sharp. His square jaw was usually clenched, and a crease regularly graced the space in between his brows. He was the type of man people would say could be considered handsome if he was not so darn serious.

“They better! Alleria, I have told you time and time again you need to better control your Stellar!” Vlasis snapped, angrily pointing at Zaizen.

“Enough of this nonsense Vlasis,” Avatz, the head of the Metal Genus looked at his heavy metal watch, “Let’s just get through this already! Unlike the rest of you dawdlers and gawkers, I actually have a day job.” In response to those words, the three Sound Genus representatives, who were clad in black suits and dark sunglasses, winced in pain. Both the man seated behind the table, and the two men who stood to both his sides hurried to move their earpieces as far away from their ears as possible.

“He did not like that.” The man who was seated responded, tightening the tie on his neck.

“I don’t give a damn what he does and does not like!” Avatz barked back from behind his thick gray mustache, “And don’t think I’ve accepted you three taking turns in his stead. This is the council of mages for crying out loud! You take that earplug of yours and tell that scoundrel to get himself over here immediately!”

“It’s your funeral.” A small voice, laced with irony, chimed in from the very end of the platform. The man now known as ‘Fischer’ leaned so far back on his chair, he looked as if he would fall any second. From beneath the platform, only his feet were visible – since they were propped up on the desk front of him. His arms cushioned the back of his head, and a large hat covered his aging face, trying to block out the light in the room.

“What was that?!” Avatz stood up, seething with anger, watching as Fischer’s chest rose and fell, as a soft snoring sound accompanied his steady breaths. Avatz loudly sat back down, crossing his hands over his chest. Belonging to the class of Instrumental mages, Fischer had no pedigree to speak of and no flag to flaunt but having been previously known as an “Executioner”, Seifen could bet he was the most dangerous man in the room. Well, Seifen thought, looking at the two council members who abstained from the discussion, upon second thought maybe Fischer was tied for first or second place for that particular title.

The man sitting directly opposite of Fischer, needed no introduction to anyone living and breathing on the face of the planet. Stephen Dawn, the founder, owner and CEO of Dawn Industries was one of the leading entrepreneurs in the world, and secretly, he was also an Instrumental mage and member of the council. Like Fischer, he shouldn’t have had a flag pinned to his convex, but nevertheless, his side had a “Dawn Industries” logo expertly sewn on a high-quality fabric. An amused expression never left his face, and the corners of his lips always formed a smile. His fellow council members knew everything about him and yet, nothing at all, which vexed them to no end.

Finally, Seifen reluctantly looked at the second woman on the council, his blue eyes meeting a set of mismatched ones. Her right eye was a shade of violet, while the left one was a sparkling silver. The black and purple flag of the Mind Genus hung in front of her, adorned with a large eye symbol. The two olive branches underneath the eye were a relatively recent addition – added following the Mind Genus subjugation some eight hundred years prior. But the eerie eyes were not the most disconcerting thing about the young woman. From the tip of her head to the end of her toes, two rows of runes were tattooed on her body. Starting at the sides of her forehead, down her cheeks and through the sides of her neck, down her arms and underneath them, lastly following the curve of her waist towards the sides of her legs. If it wasn’t for the black ink lettering covering her face and body, it would have been much easier to discern her remarkably beautiful features. Her high cheekbones, straight nose, and almond shaped eyes gave her face a distinguished and angular look, especially when framed with her thick dark straight hair. Unlike most mind mages, who attempted to hide their obligatory branding, a practice which was decided by the very council she was now a part of, Isi did nothing of the sort. 

If anything, Seifen thought, it was the opposite. He was sure that the democratically elected leader of the mind Genus had her clothes tailored to have maximum exposure of her markings.

“So gramps, where am I going this time?” Zaizen yawned, “And where’s ginger Satan?”