Prologue

The ornate halls of The Spire were unusually silent.

The chatter and thrum of magical energies nonexistent. The moon was alone in the midnight sky, as if the other celestial bodies had left it to wander the night sky alone. Its pale light struck the crystal pillars and archways, lighting up the desolate courtyard. Inside, the only sources of light were the small floating candles that littered the halls with their soft, azure flames.

A large, black raven landed on a small window ledge of one of the smaller towers that protruded from the main body of The Spire. The raven knocked its hooked beak against the chilled, frosted glass, whilst scratching the oak ledge with its short claw. A moment later, the window swung open, and the raven leapt off the ledge in surprise.

She didn't expect him to be around so late.

It screeched at the large man that stood at the window, before flying inside, its wing softly brushing through the man's dark hair.

The man paused for a moment.

Before closing the window with a hint of reluctance. He turned around to see a blonde haired woman, with eyes that seemed to gleam with an edge arcane energy, sitting in his large leather armchair that sat next to a marble fireplace. A small feather gently fell off the woman's shoulder, and slipped between the aged floorboards. 'Good evening, Aerin.' She said softly, before taking a sip from the crystal wine glass that was placed hazardously on the right arm of the chair. 'It's been a while, has it not?'

'Indeed it has, Lynette.' The man replied, before placing a cigar in between his pale lips, an almost devilish grin forming on his face.

There was a soft crackling sound, from the fireplace to Lynette's left. The flames wrapped themselves around the wooden logs, licking off the scorched bark. They seemed to be dancing along the logs in endless arcs of beauty and grace. Scattered above and below the fireplace, were tomes that pulsed with magical energies, their spines covered with elaborate designs that twisted in between the pages. In each of the corners of the heptagonal shaped room, stood large, oak racks that hung from the stone walls like vines, the racks themselves full of vials and jars that each contained either a dim or bright coloured liquid. Lynette continued to drink the rich scarlet wine from the crystal glass, her eyes fixed on Aerin. She smirked at him.

'Do you actually drink this?' She asked, placing the glass back onto the arm of the chair.

With a click of Aerin's fingers, the end of the cigar was lit with a small, pale ember. He took a deep almost exhausted breath, as if he’d heard the question a thousand times before, and then exhaled slowly.

'Yes,' He replied bluntly. 'Problem?'

Lynette began to twirl her wispy blonde hair, 'It tastes vile.' She coughed, her face turning sour.

'Well...' Aerin raised a single, sharp brow, and the glass flew across from the chair and delicately into his hand, without spilling a single drop of liquid, 'Some of us do enjoy wine from the Southern Isles, unlike others.'

Lynette raised a skeptical eyebrow, clearly un-amused by Aerin’s effortless little trick, 'That's Southern wine? And how exactly did you manage to get your hands on that?'

Aerin chuckled slightly, taking a drink, 'I have my methods.'

'Don't we all?' Lynette took a glance at Aerin, her smile no longer visible.

'You're probably wondering why I came here?'

'The thought didn't cross my mind for one moment.' He replied, his eyes shifting away from Lynette.

'I have a message.'

'From whom?' He took another short sip.

There was a moment of silence before Lynette finally replied.

'The High Council.'

Aerin's opal eyes shot at Lynette like coals on a fire. 'And what exactly does The High Council want with me? Aren’t they too busy with that civil war going on?' He almost spat at her, and Lynette broke eye contact with Aerin, her face showing nothing but worry. 'Lynette. What do they want?'

She looked up at him, her face flooded with unease, 'They, they've...' She stuttered, her words falling from her mouth in a pile of jumbled letters and sounds.

‘Take your time, no need to hurt yourself.’ Aerin’s voice was reassuring; however, Lynette was aware that her stutter was just a hindrance to him.

She paused, and composed herself. ‘They want you to drop your titles as, Head Archmage of The Spire.

The cigar fell from Aerin's hand, and in the pause of a breath, he crushed it with his dark leather boots that wrapped themselves around his lower legs up to his knees. He looked over at Lynette, the flames flickering in his eyes.

'There's nothing you can do, Aerin.' Lynette sighed.

'I was planning on going to Oheron tomorrow, but it appears a more important matter has arisen. I shall gather the opinions of the others in the morning-'

'Aerin!' Lynette interrupted him, and pushed herself up from the chair, her eyes burning with a bright purple, 'there is no need for such a pointless task! Regardless of what the others say, they will have no effect on this situation!' She paused for a moment, taking a step back from Aerin, collecting her thoughts. 'If you stand against them, they'll kill you.'

Aerin was silent for a few moments.

'You should leave.' He finally demanded.

His voice was clear and still as if it were glass.

Lynette frowned, and opened the window behind Aerin. 'I don't think-'

'Go.' Aerin raised his voice, easily silencing Lynette.

Lynette sighed, before she ducked her head and leapt out of the window, her body twisting in a variety of uncomfortable shapes, before finally assuming her raven form, ‘some things never change...’

Aerin placed the empty glass on the window ledge, and fell into his chair, rubbing his creased forehead. A cool breeze crept in from the window across from him, suffocating the once dancing flames, leaving only a thick pile of midnight ash.

His eyes flickered to the window and he grinned, ‘Allow me, dear Lynette, to take care of these matters with my own two hands.’ And with that, Aerin’s body flew from the chair, and out of the window, knocking down the wine glass that sat on the window ledge. The pale moonlight glimmered in his eyes, and before his body reached the cobbled floor of the courtyard below, his body violently snapped and jerked inwards, his robes and body folding and contorting into one. And then, as quickly as he had fallen, he was gone, only the crystalline shards of the wine glass remained on the snow covered courtyard below.