Monthly Short Story for April: A Tale of Two Realms

Hello Commissioned Pioneers! :D As promised as always, in accordance with the results of last month's poll, I present to you the Bonus Story of the Month! There were a total of four choices once again, with a majority voting for Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School Side Story 16.

We head to the Nexus this time around, to meet a character that we may or may not encounter in the main story at some point, but whose actions on this day will most certainly hearken back to two of the earlier bonus stories! :D

This story effectively ties back to Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School’s second side story: An Interview With an Author, as well as Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School’s third side story: An Investigation in the Nexus! :D So please do check those out either before or after you check this one out!

I’ve been waiting for a while now to write this bonus story, and I’m so happy to be able to release it in close tandem to the latest chapter of the main story too! Because in that, we see that Alaroy Rital’s books were part of the mysterious list on Mal’tory’s notebook! And now, we see exactly (or close to it at least), what the contents of those books may have been about! Indeed, whilst it was already hinted at in the prior two bonus stories listed above, we get to see a bit more of a glimpse of it in this one! :D 

I also get to introduce quite a few other bits of Nexian worldbuilding here, which I find really exciting to share! 

Let's jump right into it then! :D I'd like to proudly present, Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School's sixteenth side story! :D

A Tale of Two Realms

The Nexus. Midlands. The Duchy of Risek. Free Trade City of Elusia under the Patronage of His Eternal Majesty’s Guildhalls’ Freehold. 

Dusk.

Lady Telari Essen 

It was raining, and heavily too.

The darkened skies above roared and cracked amidst the deafening rush of what looked to be an entire season’s worth of rainfall condensed into a single day.

The open storefronts lining the central district, often regarded as Elusia’s most coveted cultural treasure, were now indistinguishable from any other street in the Midlands; their great awnings folded, their fairy lights dampened, leaving the streets empty and bare.

What should have been a lively night, reminiscent of that of the grandest of festivals in the periphery or the adjacent realms, was now temporarily suspended.

Something that would’ve been unimaginable in the Crownlands, but a matter of some regularity here in the Midlands.

Perhaps this should’ve served as an omen, a warning, for me to turn back.

But I couldn’t.

Not when I’ve become enamored with a world and the stories of wondrous fantasy made manifest, and especially not, considering the lengths to which I had worked to arrive at this junction. 

There was a not-too-insignificant sum of coin involved in acquiring a space within this most coveted of societies. And this was without even mentioning the social capital required in such a convoluted transaction. A transaction for what amounted to a tentative membership to access what was in effect an unassuming dining establishment nestled in the midst of many more nondescript establishments of similar size and make. 

Though it wasn’t the food, the drink, nor even the services that was so special about this establishment.

It was more so the people behind those doors, the patrons that comprise their ranks, and the stories they held in their palms that well and truly solidified the value proposition for what most might see as a wasteful endeavor.

For the Society for the Echoes of the Lost, has, and shall always remain the alternate successor to both The Library and the Crownlands Arcanum. The former being the den of a callous outlander, and the latter having fallen far from their supposed mission. 

There was no hope in reforming the Arcanum. 

There was only hope in starting anew. An entirely distinct and separate entity far from the enigmatic biases and machinations of an outlander, and away from an organization that no longer serves His Eternal Majesty’s will.

However, this can only be done in secrecy. As only in the shadows is the society safe from those who may find the preservation of certain works… taboo, unnatural, if not downright heretical. Many of the seminal works held within would lead to the call for inquisition within less than a heartbeat if word ever got out, which was why such intensive secrecy was necessary… at least for now.

Because if there was any hope of the organization surviving to a time where its mission statement could be followed through in totality, then secrecy was of utmost importance. 

I was not blind to the fact that this went both ways however, as I was very much just as liable for swift retribution if I were to be discovered; and the wrath of the inquisition was most certainly a force I did not want to trifle with. 

This meant that my journey to Elusia was made without many of what I, along with the rest of my peers, would consider to be my common personal effects.

No jewelry beyond the enchanted and practical.

No crests or insignias denoting any relation to noble or royal heritage.

Not even illusory magic was used due to the paradoxical effect of garnering too much attention from those who would actively seek out such things; of which there was always a distressing number.

No, the only true illusory spell I used was one that merely… inhibited my aura, lowering it, to that of what might be seen from a gifted commoner. 

The thought, let alone the act of going about this venture, was beyond taboo. 

Even thinking about it made my skin crawl, and my insides twist and turn. 

It felt like I was willfully parading myself in a walk of shame, tearing down everything that made me, me. 

I felt like I was quite literally inhabiting a fate worse than death.

And ultimately across many instances during this drudgery of a commute, I felt like I was about ready to collapse not from the deleterious effects of the aura masker, but from the feeling of being so much… lesser.

It will all be worth it. I thought to myself, as I continued hurriedly dashing through the streets, enchanted cloak in hand, repelling and nullifying most of the more deleterious effects of the rain; superficial as it may be.

Only through adversity is true knowledge gained. I kept repeating in my mind, feeling the occasional squelch of water seeping through the half-baked enchantments of my boots. A necessary compromise so as to not draw too much attention.

Commoners, even the richer, gifted ones, often did not spend their coin on too many frivolities after all. Or at least, that was what I was told by my nurse, from her prior experiences deep within the Midlands.

These thoughts, and more, were bastions of ignorance amidst a reality that consistently reinforced the reality of my current predicament upon my self-conscious mind.

At this point however, even in spite of the long and arduous journey without the use of Crownlands carriages or Puddlejumpers, I eventually found myself in front of the end of my travels.

After a solid ten days of travel, I found myself at the foot of an unassuming, and frankly… diminutive five-story townhouse. 

It was… a typical Midlands affair — with brick and mortar and a spritz of enchanted everlasting paint coating it in a shade of self-repairing off-white. 

A single enchanted phoenix-wood door stood out even amidst the shuttered windows and the smithied lamppost of the structure. Its size and make all but stood out amidst the rest of the townhouses on either side. Moreover, its idiosyncrasies such as its shallower awnings and unadorned lawn gave the structure a somewhat quaint and handsome personality.

I was, however, unsure of whether the structure itself had personality.

It was a risk if it did. But then again, it would also serve as a boon for the rumored puddle jumping capabilities of the establishment.

Only time would tell however.

Speaking of which…

I moved towards the door, unsheathing the only article on my person that was gained through half a decade of social niceties, and another half decade of whatever it was the SEL leadership considered to be the prerequisite vetting process — a twenty-sided die. 

It was an innocuous thing, with an even more bizarre enchantment that I couldn’t make heads or tails of. In addition, due to one of the agreements more or less prohibiting me sharing the item with anyone else, I couldn’t have it vetted either. 

It was a test of faith at this point, and whether I was being lured into a convoluted trap, or whether I was about to become part of one of the most elusive secret societies of the Nexus was a complete gamble. 

I was, however… willing to risk it all.

For both the chance at experiencing something so tantalizing new, so completely taboo… but also, for the chance of becoming part of something greater, when everything else in my life up to this point had been nothing short of abject mediocrity for someone of my station.

To those ends… I was willing to risk it, just to hear of this Tale of Two Realms; the seminal work of a name still lauded for everything else but his literary achievements. 

It was impossible to fully erase the legacy of a storied hero after all, especially a guild master.

It was, however, easy to erase aspects of his life. 

Or at least, that’s what it seemed.

“Enough.” I whispered under my breath, realizing now that my mind was trying everything it could to delay the inevitable.

It was now, or never. 

And so, with a vice grip, I held onto the round innocuous doorknob with my right hand, and with my left… I let go of the die.

My breath was held as I watched the twenty-sided object drop to the wet ground with an unsatisfying clink. The object rolled for what felt like an unnatural amount of time… before it finally stopped.

I rolled a twenty.

But I had no idea what that even meant.

I only knew that I fulfilled my instructions to the letter.

And what happened next was going to either be a reward, or a punishment for my faith or gullibility, respectively.

…

Seconds ticked by.

…

Then, an audible crack.

As I felt the doorknob giving way, my hand firmly stuck to its surface as if glued on by an overwhelmingly powerful force.

I tried using my magic against it, but a voice quickly warned me against following through with my attempted conjuring of light magic.

“Do not be afraid. You have passed the test, and proven that you are pure of heart, and righteous of intent.” 

The voice… was most certainly not that of your typical doorman or servant. Moreover, it was anything but reassuring, booming through the cavernous space that I’d more or less been sucked into following the violent and forceful swing of the door. 

“Understood.” I acknowledged, falling into the role my father had warned would be my downfall… my over willingness to trust, and my tendency to fall in line, in the words of my mother. 

With a slam of the door, I found myself in an all-encompassing field of white.

“A waiting room.” I offered out loud, cocking my head around whilst remaining perfectly still.

These sorts of places were as common as your middling noble in the crownlands, and I’d only experienced it first hand in the halls of the Royal Academy, by means of tempting both fate and discipline in my early formative years. 

“How did you manage to procure use of a-”

“We have our methods.” Another voice boomed out. This one was different from the first. It was a male voice, strong, and taciturn. “We require one final trial to be done before we allow you entrance into our humble abode.” The voice paused, as a formless white arm extending from the void itself held aloft what appeared to be a ceremonial knife made from the same phoenix-wood as the door, adorned in some sort of seashell, and encrusted with several gems; all enchanted no less. “Release the aura masker, and then, draw from your palms the blood of the mage. Only then, can we proceed.” 

“And if I refuse?” I shot back, more so curious than defiant. 

“Then you will see shortly after your refusal.” The voice answered enigmatically, and with a hint of annoyance growing in its undertones. 

It was at this point that I steeled myself, clenching my eyes shut before holding both of my palms open for the blade.

I felt nothing as it slashed and drew blood, more than likely the results of a preemptive numbing effect.

Upon opening my eyes, I could only catch sight of the slightest of crimson red drops being gathered and stored within a glass vial, taken away far and off into the white void, leaving my hands completely healed and unscathed.

Seconds passed…

And during that time, I was left alone with my uneasy thoughts.

“Lady Telari Essen.”

“Y-yes?”

“Please recite these lines after me.”

I hesitated, but nodded in short order.

“I, Lady Telari Essen, in clear conscience and under no form of manipulation, be it magical or otherwise, will uphold the code of honor of The Society for the Echoes of the Lost. I will never, under any circumstance, divulge or infer the knowledge exchanged or the existence of the Society, its members, or the contents discussed within. I will, under threat of interrogation, sacrifice my existence for the continuity of the Society’s continued secrecy. I will, from now until the end of my existence, be a member of The Society for the Echoes of the Lost. And I will, forever, ensure that the memories of the Lost are held safe only within the confines of my memory. Under His Eternal Majesty’s Will, I swear, on the fate of my life, and the fate of the lives of my line.” 

Those words, those lines… I could feel the ferocity of their intent being stitched into my very soul. 

There were only two other experiences in my life even remotely comparable to this vow.

Its intensity, matched only by the Royal Academy’s binding ceremony.

And its passion, matched only by the pledge of fealty to the eternal Crown. 

Those words, and the magical echoes humming from its utterance, ushered in the formation of a room that filled in the otherwise white void piece by painstaking piece; until what remained of the featureless white space was a small portrait-sized rectangle placed where the door should have been.

Indeed, I found myself at the base of a modest staircase that fit more at home in a merchant lord’s manor than a small out-of-the-way townhouse. 

Its overreliance on wooden support beams and flying buttresses put me in mind of some of the more rural, but otherwise respectable homes. Moreover, it wasn’t exactly the space itself that I was focused on now, but rather the people within it.

I took a deep breath in, steeled my spirits, and proceeded to enter what I’d been seeking for a little over a decade.

Two men immediately intercepted my path, which amounted to a tall, stern looking sea elf that looked as old as an elf could get, and a younger softer-looking wood elf just about my age. 

The older man, dressed in the fineries expected of a Midlands senior noble, spoke first. His voice still carried with it the authority it did from within the waiting room. “Lady Essen, a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I am Lord Tarin Babrideit, the society’s Grand Master.” He paused, gesturing to the elf beside him. “And this is Lord Danal Linali, Head Executor of Inductions, Head Processor of Admissions, and Protector of the House of Whispers.”  

I immediately bowed, curtseying as I did so, before lifting my head to meet the man’s wisened but fierce gaze. “The pleasure and honor is all mine, Lord Barbridelt, Lord Linali.” I paused, before staring up high at the chandelier ceiling, and as expected… the one, singular draconic eye that hovered above us all. “And thank you for granting me entrance within your space, your Excellency.” 

The whole room shuddered, if only for a moment, prompting the younger elf to nod, as if in understanding of the strange dulcet groans that followed. “The House of Whispers acknowledges your flattery, and expresses a tentative welcome.” The house shuddered again, prompting the wood elf to clench his eyes shut, nodding all the while. “It states further that it wishes not to be addressed directly or interrupted again, and wishes for you to abide by House Rules…” The man once more paused, reaching his hand towards a bookshelf nearby, before grabbing what appeared to be a thick leather-bound book of questionable quality. “... here.” He handed it off to me, and I could just about feel the distinct… grittiness of its cover.

This was nothing like The Library.

But then again, no entity in known existence could ever hope to match its greatness…  save for His Eternal Majesty of course, but that would be akin to comparing laytonberries to ringerfruits.

“To facilitate your entry for today however, I will say this — simply act as you would in a Crownlands’ home, and under no circumstances do you enter any space without a door or painting frame that hasn’t already been open. The house will not warn you twice.” The man pointed his finger straight between my eyes, prompting me to nod deeply in respect.

“Understood, your Excellency.”

“Very well then, that should be enough administrative talk for now.” The older man finally offered, with a tone that was genuinely rather reassuring. “You are here for one thing in particular, aren’t you?”

“I beg your pardon-?”

“There is no need for niceties nor to play coy within these walls, Lady Essen.” Lord Babrideit interjected. “We have eyes and ears of our own, and we’ve been monitoring your interests. You are… quite a fan of the works of Alaroy Rital, aren’t you?” 

I paused the moment I heard that, my whole body flinching at the man’s brazen statements.

Primarily because they were completely true, and completely private.

“Yes, Lord Babrideit.” I acknowledged all the same, fearful of what retribution defiance may bring.

“Then you arrived just in time.” He smiled with a quirk of his lips. “We scheduled you for this week for a reason, Lady Essen. This week is a celebration of what remains of Alaroy Rital’s works. Indeed, today in particular is the retelling of what we’ve been able to gather from his most seminal work—”

“—A Tale of Two Realms.” I completed his words for him, prompting the man to let out a dry, throaty chuckle. 

“You are well-versed in the hidden and the taboo I see. Very well, Alaroy Rital’s retellings will be had in the main foyer here.” He gestured behind him, at the empty space by the base of the stairs which was slowly but surely being appointed with several plush seats. “I personally was never one for Rital’s outrageous fantasies. I’m more of a classic pre-Crownlands mythology myself. Hence I shall be occupying the Solarium for the remainder of the night. This may mark our final conversation for the night, Lady Essen. But remember, our house shall remain in Elusia for another half week or so and as such we highly recommend your continued participation during what amounts to your induction week. If you so wish, you may request for room and board here in the House of Whispers with Lord Linali, and he shall forward your request to our gracious host. Though, be ready to make alternative arrangements for tonight, or even successive nights even if you are granted room and board. For our gracious host will indeed have the final say on matters of temporary residence for those not of the High Council.” 

I nodded respectfully, taking a few steps away from the man, in anticipation of his departure from the conversation. “I humbly accept these points of recommendation with the utmost of honor, Lord Babrideit.” 

“The Society for the Echoes of the Lost treats its members with dignity and respect, Lady Essen. I wish only to act upon the principles by which our society is founded. Now if you’ll excuse me…” The man moved forward, and towards the stairs in front of us. “... I will be attending the talks on The Dragons of the Void by a little known philosopher, Ter the Dreamer.” 

With those final few words, the man left in a slow, dignified walk up the stairs. 

This left just me, Lord Linali, and an assortment of twenty or so members of the society currently mingling amongst each other as chairs, tables, and all sorts of drinks and beverages were manifested into existence by the house itself. 

It was at that point that I decided to finally break my own silence, pushing instead to initiate conversation. “Lord Linali?” 

“Yes, Lady Essen?”

“Will you be joining us in the atrium tonight?”

“I’m afraid not, Lady Essen. Nor will I be attending the talks in the Solarium. I have administrative matters I must tend to. As such, if you wish to stay for the night, I humbly request that you make your intent known, now.” The man spoke warmly, yet with a hint of impatience.

“I… I believe I will make my arrangements elsewhere tonight, Lord Linali.” I bowed curtly, prompting the man to simply nod once in reply.

“Very well. Please make yourself at home then, Lady Essen, and do help yourself to some refreshments. Alaroy Rital’s Chief Reteller, Lady Vrital, can be rather verbose in her retellings. I chalk this up to her increasingly hazy memory and her propensity for embellishments… but do with that warning as you will. Have a pleasant night, Lady Essen.” The man bowed deeply, prompting me to do the same as he left towards what looked to be the house’s pantry, before actively opening a door… something that I was going to assume was perhaps possible for those within the society’s administration.

“Lords and Ladies, gathered members of the Society, let us not allow our time to be consumed by polite pleasantries, for we know why we are gathered here on this fine night!” A voice boomed from the top of the stairs, the likes of which had begun to change and contort, now shifting into some otherworldly abomination of an elevated stage. 

The assortment of fellow nobility took this opportunity to finally take to their seats, as I found myself the claimant to a chair at the very ‘back’ of this rather impromptu ‘theater’. 

The elven noblewoman on the stairs-turned-stage, who I assumed to be Lady Vrital, wore a simple set of overlapping cloaks adorned with what appeared to be stylized imagery of doors and windows. 

Her face was otherwise hidden by a mask resembling the few statues of Alaroy Rital I’d seen, which on one hand felt quite fitting, yet on the other felt somewhat disrespectful of the long-dead hero. 

“Today, we recount the great author, Alaroy Rital’s magnum opus; in so far as my memories of its pages have been passed down to me from its prior Reteller. Today, I present to you, my fellows in the Society for the Echoes of the Lost — A Tale of Two Realms.”

The whole room erupted in preemptive applause, before settling down as the mana-lights around us dimmed, and the manafields began shifting into something resembling that of a room-sized sight-seer.

A moment of silence descended, followed up abruptly by a booming voice that reverberated through every nook and cranny of the room. 

“Amidst the stars and the sea and the void, 

There exists two realms, ready and poised.

Two realms of wealth,

Rife in power and health.

Two realms of ravenous hunger,

With dreams of mutual plunder.

For in their hearts lie desire beyond reason,

That which they sated with acts of treason.

So amidst the stars, and the sea and the void,

Their fates are bound, swords drawn and poised.”

“This is a story of a realm of blue and a realm of red, separated by a dark sea; infinitely vast.” 

As if on cue, Lady Vrital’s words were made manifest in the center of the room, as two lands sat suspended within the void of infinite nothingness. The first, a realm of sapphire blue. The second, a realm of deep crimson red.

“These two realms, once members of the same family, soon found themselves bickering over fickle disputes. What those disputes were? No one recalls. Perhaps it was matters of pride, of honor, and of taxes. This is a story of two realms well into their war, their reasons enigmatic, mysterious… yet relatable. This is a story, of great battles and sieges, of warships and weapons so awesome in their power and vast in their numbers. This is a story, of a father and son, and a family torn asunder by the actions of the greedy, the insatiable, and the foolish.”

The scene shifted only once in this rapid-paced section, revealing what appeared to be fleets upon fleets of ships of various make, their colors representative of the kingdoms they hailed from. 

“Yet as much as this is A Tale of Two Realms, the war did not end on either of their fronts—” Lady Vrital paused, allowing the images to catch up with her, this time highlighting more realms and lands set amidst the dark and infinite seas. 

“For the insatiable appetite for expansion did not end at the realm of red, but indeed, stretched beyond into the realm of the white, the realm of the yellow, and the realm of the gray.” Lady Vrital’s manastreams could be seen interacting with the images, as she conjured up these different realms. The realm of the white, the smallest, and in closest proximity to the realm of the blue. The realm of the yellow, further away, perhaps as far as the realm of the red was from the realm of the blue. Then finally, the realm of the gray, smaller than the realm of the yellow but larger than the realm of the white, furthest away from any other realm. “These realms followed the will of their father, the realm of the blue.” 

“So how then? How then, you may ask. How did the realm of the red believe they could stand up to the might of the realm of the blue alone in the midst of the dark? Well I’ll tell you… there are more realms, smaller, barely visible. Realms hidden within the seas themselves, realms the size of islands, but as numerous as insects in a seasonal swarm.” 

Hundreds more tiny dots appeared around the lands of the realm of the red, as if forming a collective swarm in defense of their defiant brother. 

“Indeed, there is no question that this is a war of two realms. It just so happens that, just as it is in reality, a war of two realms is more accurately a war of two bannerlords. In this case, the banner of the blue, and the banner of the red. Which begs the question…” Lady Vrital paused, as if assessing each and every one of the gathered audience’s gaze. “... where will your sympathies lie at the end of this tale? The banner of the blue? Or the banner of the red?”

… 

There was, for lack of a better term, complete and utter silence throughout the book’s retelling. 

Not a cough nor shuffle could be heard as we watched the great sieges, battles, and engagements occur over untold stretches of ocean amidst what appeared to be so little time. 

With the war lasting for barely a few decades, the number of battles and shifting frontlines felt utterly dizzying and completely overwhelming. 

Moreover, the rate at which losses were replenished, and new capable ship masters were thrown into the conflict… was on a scale that felt foolish, and almost self-limiting. 

Why were these great mages capable of such great feats, limiting themselves to ship-to-ship battles? Why were these great powers artificially inhibiting the effectiveness of war by constraining themselves in ways so abstract and bizarre? 

They were acting as if the very fundamentals of magical warfare were all but nonexistent. For not a single teleportation spell was cast, nor any tactics granted by teleportation employed as a result. 

This entire war… felt more like the recounting of an adjacent realm lacking in magical acumen, one that was lacking in the instruction of the Nexus in conventional and contemporary magical warfare. 

Yet this war clearly took place in a setting beyond the capabilities of an adjacent realm. It was, for lack of a better descriptor, on par with some of the greatest of adjacent realms… and perhaps even parts of the Nexian outlands combined. For the sheer scale and capabilities of such a hypothetical realm, was indisputably beyond what any uncontacted realm should’ve been capable of.

But then again, I had to remind myself that this was fiction.

This was, ultimately, a brilliant work of literary genius — combining the size and scale of something truly Nexian, with the limited mindset and capabilities of a pre-contact adjacent realm. 

And I was able to finally experience it… all thanks to this amazing storyteller.

“An amazing retelling, Lady Vrital, absolutely incredible!” I spoke enthusiastically, bowing profusely towards the elven woman who still refused to remove her mask. 

“A pleasure to have another admirer of the great Alaroy Rital, my dear.” She spoke politely, and rather modestly.  

“Indeed! I apologize if I sound too enthusiastic, but I simply cannot wait until the next retelling! The man truly did have an eye for the novel and the new. His worlds are ever so rich, yet so utterly impossible that I just cannot fathom how he managed to create, let alone make such a dichotomy work!” 

“Oh, my dear… there are rumors. Rumors that perhaps… well… perhaps the impossible as you put it, may best be described as the improbable. An author, after all, always has to get his ideas from somewhere.” The woman winked, before walking away towards the buffet table, only to be swarmed by a small crowd of admirers. 

Those words, however lingered in my mind, and would continue to do so for a considerable amount of time.