#fantasy

Freya had been in the kingdom for eleven minutes when she learned that she was qualified to manage its accounts payable.

This was not what she had expected from another world.

“I would like to appeal,” she said.

The dragon behind the registration desk adjusted his spectacles.

He was approximately the size of a large dog, with moss-green scales, two small horns, and a pair of wings folded neatly against his back. A silver chain connected his spectacles to a button on his waistcoat.

“On what grounds?”

“Incorrect classification.”

“Do you possess evidence?”

“I am an athlete.”

The dragon waited.

“I train six days a week.”

“Very commendable.”

“I can deadlift one hundred and twenty kilograms.”

“Congratulations.”

“I have competitive rowing experience.”

“Excellent.”

Freya leaned forward.

“Why am I a Court Administrator?”

The dragon consulted the glowing crystal mounted above his desk.

“Because you are a Court Administrator.”

Shira made a small sound behind her.

Freya turned.

“Are you laughing?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I inhaled.”

“You inhaled sarcastically.”

Shira looked toward the ceiling.

“I can't control how you interpret oxygen.”

The dragon tapped a claw against a parchment.

“Your aptitude has been verified by the Crown's Classification Prism. Appeals may be submitted in writing, provided the appellant can establish a procedural irregularity.”

“Good,” Freya said. “Where is the form?”

The dragon looked at her.

Something in his expression changed.

A thunderstorm raged over the sea. A storm was approaching. Behind her lay the forest… and a monster. There was nowhere left to run. Anna came to the edge of the cliff; below, the waves thrashed wildly against blade-sharp rocks. For a moment, her mind flashed with images of her fall… and then—nothing.

“I am Anna Amridge.”

“Enough waiting! I’m not afraid of you! Show yourself.”

“I know you’re there!” Anna took a decisive step and peered into the forest’s shadowy depths. Somewhere in that darkness a pair of hungry eyes watched her—the very thing she feared most.

From the trees emerged Richard; he fell to his knees.   “Anna, help me!”

“Richard! My God, what happened? Did that creature attack you? Are you hurt?” With those words, she rushed to him without hesitation, embracing him and checking for injuries.

“Anna… listen to me! Don’t wait… run…” His face was etched with panic, as if he had urgent words to say.

Anna cupped Richard’s face in her hands.   “I will never abandon you, Richard. Not now, not ever. I love you.”

He felt her lips brush his and a wild hunger stirred within him—a desire to taste her… the taste of blood.

“No, you don’t understand who I am! Anna, please—run, right now.”

“What are you saying? Why are you pushing me away? Richard… I don’t understand.”

“I… I love you, Anna. Just know that. Those like me don’t choose who they are. You must accept me. Please.”

His gaze lifted to the sky; his hand pointed to the moon, which shone like a second sun through the darkness—full and bright.

Chapter I

Not every forest has a witch, but every witch has a forest. Sometimes they live there, but other times not; a city witch or warlock might be perfectly content to visit the forest only every month. After a long few weeks of breaking into the blood bank for some occasional rations, of charming rats to climb up to sip from people’s drinks and then spit them in her glass for a refreshing cocktail, and of climbing trees at night to reach the greatest possible height for some restorative moonbathing, there’s only so long witches and warlocks can wait before heading back to the forest to commune with Mother Nature from whom their powers emanate.

But if the forest is so much healthier for magic people, why don’t they live there all the time? Only for the same reasons that a human doesn’t live in the woods: it’s harder to get access to good-quality candy and chocolates, of course. While witches’ and warlocks’ powers extend over many domains, creating satisfying confections has proved a perennial difficulty for all but a few because most of their hearts are so rotten and withered that a spell cast for the sake of delight falls short in all but the most isolated cases. In fact, the reason most get so weary and grumpy past a certain age is that they spend all their energy trying and failing to make a perfectly normal chocolate bar, no better than the ones you can buy at the corner store for one or two dollars, or else some other treat, such as nougat or cotton candy.

Under the soft glow of twilight, Tbilisi unfolded like a tapestry of eras past and present, its ancient cobblestones echoing stories of resilience and transformation. Amidst this historic symphony, Alex and Zara threaded their way, their laughter and light footsteps companions in the quest for the elusive Emblem of Aeonium.

The air buzzed with the fusion of Eastern and Western architectural marvels, a blend that spoke volumes to Alex's Dominican roots, woven through the bustling streets of New York City and the charm of Charlotte. "Feels like home, doesn't it?" he mused, his gaze admiring the vibrant juxtapositions that mirrored his own multicultural narrative.

Zara, ever the linguist, traced the curves of Georgian scripts with her eyes, finding familiarity in their form. "Every script has a story," she replied, her voice laced with the wonder of her global upbringing, from the Nepalese highlands to the Kenyan savannahs. "It's like they're talking to us, inviting us into their world."

Their adventure took a thrilling twist upon meeting an elderly storyteller in the maze of a bustling bazaar. Over cups of fragrant Georgian tea, the storyteller unfolded a tale of the Karoli, mythical guardians of the land's treasures, now corrupted by the dark magic of Magnus Opus to protect a piece of the Emblem of Aeonium.

"The Narikala Fortress," the old man said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "that's where your journey leads. But beware, the Karoli won't let its secrets go easily."

As Alex and Zara stepped off the ancient ship and onto the vibrant streets of Montevideo, the city greeted them with a mixture of modernity and tradition, its essence as captivating as the intricate patterns of a mate gourd. The air was filled with the scent of asado, a reminder of the city's love for gathering and feasting, and the distant rhythms of Candombe drumbeats, echoing the country's African heritage.

Their quest for the Emblem of Aeonium piece had led them to Uruguay, a land where the past whispers to the present, and where the Sol de Mayo shines proudly, not just on the flag but in the hearts of its people. It was in Montevideo's blend of old and new, its streets lined with Art Deco buildings and sprawling markets, that they hoped to find the next clue.

"I've got to admit," Alex said, adjusting his gadget-laden belt, a reflection of his tech-savvy nature, "the mix of tech and tradition here is fascinating. It's like walking through a living museum."

Zara, her eyes scanning the vibrant street art that adorned the city walls, chuckled. "Speaking of museums, try not to get us lost in one, okay? I still remember the last time your 'upgraded' compass had us circling the same block for an hour."

Their playful banter was cut short when a sudden gust of wind sent a flyer fluttering to their feet. Zara picked it up, her curiosity piqued by the symbol of chaos emblazoned on it, a mark unmistakably tied to Magnus Opus. "Looks like our clue just blew in. An art exhibition themed around chaos? Sounds like Magnus's style."

In a realm where reality weaves through the threads of the fantastic, there existed a grand library, the Aeonium Sanctum. This was not just any library, but a sanctuary of wisdom where the fabric of the world's knowledge was kept, safeguarded by a magical emblem. This emblem was no ordinary symbol; it was the heart of the Aeonium Sanctum, a vibrant mosaic embodying the unity and diversity of the world. However, its integrity was compromised under the most peculiar and unexpected circumstances.

The emblem's desecration came at the hands of a villain as peculiar as he was cunning—Magnus Opus, a sorcerer with a penchant for chaos and a twisted sense of humor. Magnus, in his quest for a chaotic order, sought to unravel the threads of unity that the emblem represented. On a moonless night, under the guise of a grand illusion that mesmerized the guardians, he shattered the emblem. With a flick of his crooked wand and a mischievous cackle, the pieces were scattered across the globe, each transformed to echo the essence of its new home, leaving behind only the whisper of his laughter and a cryptic puzzle foretelling the start of an epic journey.

In response to this unprecedented disaster, the Aeonium Sanctum's elders, wise and venerable custodians of knowledge, convened. They realized that to restore the emblem, they needed not just individuals of strength, but of heart and wit. Thus, they summoned an eclectic band of young heroes, among them Alex, a tech-savvy adventurer with a gentle spirit and a knack for solving puzzles, and Zara, a linguist with a fierce intellect and a charm that could unravel the secrets of the most reticent locals.