The Hammendir Magic Chamber
The Hammendir Magic Chamber was located just north of the town capital. By Common Road, the journey from the center of town would take roughly fifteen minutes by carriage, half an hour on foot, eight minutes on horseback—and only a blink of a second through portal travel.
Fhena, however, chose something in between: she rode atop Sager's back. His pace was swift and graceful, gliding through the winding paths with practiced ease. In just ten minutes, they reached their destination.
The Magic Chamber loomed like a cathedral of arcane wonder—twin towers of striking grandeur, rising proudly from the land with a hundred and twelve floors and nearly five hundred windows glinting beneath the sun. A sturdy bridge connected the towers halfway up their height, forming an elegant arch between the two spires like a gate between minds. The towers were constructed from deep azure stone, embedded with flecks of gold-like pyrite that shimmered as though the walls themselves were enchanted. Veins of white calcite streaked through the masonry, forming bold cobbled patterns that gave the façade a noble and ancient character.
The grand entrance consisted of tall, gunmetal steel doors, vast enough for a dozen people to pass through abreast. There were no barricades, no gates, nor guards standing watch—only a sprawling open garden that softened the authority of the structure with its quiet beauty. The air here was fresher, cooler. Tall eucalyptus trees encircled the chamber's perimeter, their leaves dancing lightly in the breeze, filling the air with a crisp, minty scent.
Set upon a bed of sky-blue square stones, the front path split into a two-pronged fork—one leading to the left tower, the other to the right. At the left tower's entrance, two dragon statues stood sentinel, frozen mid-roar with wings spread in majestic fury. On the right, two lions flanked the door, regal and proud, their stone eyes carved with uncanny precision, as though watching all who approached with silent judgment.
Fhena gazed up, her breath quietly stolen by the towering marvel before her. Sager, beneath her, tilted his head back as well.
"This place smells of old magic," he murmured through their bond, "and dust."
Fhena chuckled. "Let's hope it smells of answers too."
From the outside, the twin towers of the Magic Chamber appeared oddly serene—quiet and devoid of motion, almost too still, as if the structure were slumbering.
"Which door should we knock on?" Fhena asked, her voice soft yet curious as she stepped forward, eyes scanning the towering entrances.
Sager sat down beside her, tail flicking with faint impatience. "Should we just call out for them, Master?" he suggested, tilting his head lazily toward the looming doors.
Fhena studied them carefully. "There aren't any ring bells on either side…" Her eyes darted between the two entrances. Then she spotted something—two distinct crests engraved above each door.
"Look!" she pointed excitedly, "Aefhen always favored lions… I think this must be the one!" She clapped her hands softly and skipped over to the lion-flanked entrance on the right.
Fhena drew a deep breath, straightened her posture, and knocked gently—but firmly—on the steel doors.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, with a grating groan of ancient stone shifting, the two lion statues stirred to life. Their heads twisted toward the children, stone eyelids creaking open to reveal gleaming amber eyes.
"HAAH!" Fhena squeaked, stumbling backward.
Sager flinched, ears flattened in surprise.
"Whom do you wish to see?" rumbled the lion statue to the left, its voice resonating like thunder dragged through gravel.
"I—I…" Fhena froze, panic rising in her chest. She hadn't been told a name. Aefhen had mentioned a mage… but who? Which one? She glanced frantically at Sager, who blinked, equally unhelpful.
"U-Um—"
"Excuse me," a gentle voice interrupted from behind.
Fhena and Sager both jumped again, spinning around in perfect synchronization.
There stood a man, his eyes amused and warm behind a pair of thin spectacles.
"You seem a little lost," he said kindly.
Fhena turned—and froze.
Her breath hitched. Her heart leapt... and then sank, folding into itself as if struck by a sudden memory. Standing before her was a man—no, a young lad—who bore an uncanny resemblance to Mazu. Her past surged to the surface, rippling beneath her skin. For a moment, she was caught between lifetimes.
He was striking, dressed in a blend of rich green and violet. A velvet undershirt clung to his frame, its high collar lined with fine lace that mirrored the delicate embroidery at the hems of his sleeves. Over it, a leather vest curved along his torso, adorned with thick, ornate stitching like runes winding through his garment. Tucked trousers disappeared beneath a layered waist scarf, its drapes carefully folded, while tall, polished boots climbed to just under his knees, the leather supple and dark as ink.
A cloak—green on the outside, deep plum within—draped elegantly over both shoulders, clipped to the vest with brass hooks. It hung in an inverted arc, brushing just above his ankles in a shape like a crescent blade.
But it was not just his clothing that stole her words.
His skin was the deep, radiant bronze of sunlit earth. His eyes—brilliant, living emeralds—seemed to glow with unreadable depth, calm yet alive with something stirring underneath. His face was long and refined, a chiseled elegance sculpted by time and grace.
And then—his hair. A cascade of honey-blond braids, grouped neatly into twelve, swept back from his crown and flowed behind him like a silken banner, reaching down past his thigh.
He towered over her, at least five foot eight, yet there was no shadow in his posture—only warmth and curiosity.
Fhena stared, lips parted slightly in awe. Her heart whispered a name it could not speak aloud.
"Um… young miss?" the lad asked again, taking a gentle step forward.
But Sager, ever vigilant, stepped between them. The soft rumble of a growl left his chest as his golden fur bristled slightly, a quiet warning.
"M-Mazu?!" Fhena blurted out, her voice caught in a gasp. Her hands flew to her mouth, mortified.
The young man blinked at the name, his brows rising subtly. Mazu. That name held weight in the Chamber—especially for someone like her to speak it so instinctively. He softened his gaze and let out a quiet sigh, offering a small smile.
So… it's her, he thought. The one from the dream Aefhen showed me. The child with immense, sleeping power. The child I must guide.
Crouching with practiced grace, he placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head respectfully. "Greetings, young miss. My name is Zuren."
Fhena blinked, surprised. Sager tilted his head, caught off guard as well.
Oh no… I mistook him, Fhena realized with a pang of guilt. He wasn't Mazu. Just someone who bore a strong resemblance. Her past life had surged forward too quickly, letting memory speak before she could.
Zuren stood slowly, his expression kind. "Would you care to come inside, young miss? There is… much to speak of."
"Me? N-no…" Fhena took a cautious step back. Sager tensed, ready to spring.
Zuren chuckled softly, raising both hands in surrender. "You have nothing to fear. I'm a mage of this chamber, and…" he paused, then said more gently, "Aefhen told me you would come."
Fhena blinked, startled. "Aefhen? He… he did?"
He nodded. "I can explain everything in time. And if you remain uncertain—" he smiled gently, "—you're welcome to peek into my memories."
Fhena narrowed her eyes, tilting her head in mock innocence. "You'd allow a child—a stranger—to see your thoughts?"
He knelt with one knee, placing his hand to his chest once more. "Only because Aefhen commanded it. He said you were born of great magic and that I was to teach you, guide you and protect you."
Teach me? Fhena thought with a flicker of amusement. I was once the great sorceress of Solistia… and yet, that was four centuries ago. Perhaps a lesson or two wouldn't hurt in this new age.
Zuren raised his head. "And," he added with a flicker of pride, "because you and I… are both of Talmerein blood."
Fhena's eyes widened. "Talmerein?"
He nodded solemnly. "Yes. And now, it seems—we are the last of its mages."
"Impossible…" Fhena whispered. The name struck her like thunder.
With quiet confidence, Zuren stretched out his hand toward her and Sager. "Allow me to take you to my office chamber. There, I shall tell you everything, young miss."
Fhena glanced at Sager—an unspoken exchange passed between them. Then, cautiously, she reached out and took Zuren's hand.
After a breath of consideration, Fhena nodded and reached out. Her small fingers slipped into Zuren's open palm, and Sager placed a paw atop their joined hands. A low hum vibrated through their touch, resonating like a hidden chord struck in the heart of the earth. The wind stirred. The grass in the garden bowed and danced.
Then, like petals caught in a breeze, the three of them scattered into dust-light—swirling upward in a wisp of wind and magic—before gliding effortlessly into the fourth window of the right tower.
The spell dissipated in a soft shimmer as Fhena and Sager found themselves gently set atop a pair of high stools. Zuren slid with casual grace to his desk and turned to them with a welcoming smile.
"Welcome to my chamber," he said.
Fhena's eyes widened in curiosity.
The room was a strange and enchanting harmony—where antique grandeur met modern magical ingenuity. It was a space both carefully curated and deeply lived in. Models of fine craftsmanship from the town's most renowned artisans stood proudly on display: arcane clocks that ticked without gears, miniature floating aqueducts, and softly glowing instruments of unknown use.
The walls were lined with dark wood cabinets and high bookshelves that held thick tomes, scrolls, rune stones, glowing orbs, and glass bottles filled with colorful liquids and dust. Above, a grand loft spanned half the ceiling, accessible by a spiraling iron stair. Suspended in the center of the room was a slender, delicate chandelier made entirely of thin crystal rods, glittering like strands of ice.
In the lounge area, two deep sea-green camelback sofas faced one another, framing a polished granite round table veined with white and sun-orange streaks. The floor beneath them was softened by a luxurious carpet woven in muted tones of blue and green, forming gentle, undulating waves.
Trailing ivy spilled from pots perched on high shelves, while planters of exotic flora added breath and life to the space. And yet, despite the richness of detail and the abundance of magical objects, the chamber didn't feel cluttered—it felt alive. Like a room with stories waiting to be told.
Sager gave a soft huff of approval. Fhena let herself relax ever so slightly, letting her wide eyes drink it all in.
This wasn't just a mage's office.
It was a sanctuary.
"Tea?" Zuren offered, gesturing toward a polished silver set that shimmered faintly with enchantment.
Fhena shook her head politely. "Thank you, but… we haven't long. Sager and I snuck away," she admitted, sliding off the stool with a sheepish smile and settling into one of the deep green sofas.
Zuren chuckled knowingly. "Ah, young heirs with secrets. Very well, no time to waste then."
He crossed the room with swift, quiet steps and opened a carved wooden cabinet tucked beneath a shelf heavy with runes and scrolls. From within, he retrieved a small, worn wooden box—plain in appearance, but humming with quiet energy. He returned to the granite table and gently placed the box before her.
With a single tap of his finger upon the lid, the box gave a soft hiss as a line of light traced its edges. The lid lifted open with a whispering sigh.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a gem that glowed like frozen moonlight—a soft, pearlescent sheen shifting as though it held a sky within.
"Master!" Sager gasped through the mind chain, tail flicking wildly. "The fourth gem!"
Fhena leaned forward, breath catching in her throat. "That…" she whispered, the pulse of the gem already resonating with her own.
Zuren's voice softened. "I came across it five years ago during one of our expeditions to Zeillos," he began, his tone now layered with memory. "It was entombed with the last monarch of the Zeillos line, King Fretheyn Airnas. I remember standing before the crypt—it was as if the gem was calling to me, whispering through stone and silence."
He paused and looked to her. "At the time, I didn't understand its purpose. Only that it wasn't ordinary. So I brought it back with me." Zuren's gaze turned thoughtful. "Then Aefhen came to me. Told me of its true nature, of its bond to you. He said I was to protect it—until the day you would come to claim it."
Fhena's fingers hovered just above the gem, feeling its energy wrap around her like the warmth of an old memory slowly returning.
Of all Zuren had just said, only one name echoed in Fhena's mind—Airnas. The rest, though important, slipped past her thoughts like sand in water.
Airnas? she mused. The last reigning monarch? Expedition in Zeillos?
Her memories stirred—old fragments from a life long past. Zeillos. A kingdom southwest of Solistia. A sealed land of warriors and wilderness, where the people lived off the grid, bound to nature, bound to no one. Fhena remembered its fierce independence. Neither kings nor emperors could tame it. Not even Vaelkain—who often seethed in frustration over their defiance.
Barbarians and amazons, they were called by outsiders. And yet, House Solléonis had once tried to extend a hand of alliance—not dominance. They had failed, but not with bitterness. Zeillos had never posed a threat unless provoked. They were fierce, but not cruel. Strong, but not invaders.
So when Zuren mentioned the fall of Airnas, Fhena felt her chest tighten.
"Why do you say 'the last reigning monarch'?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more deliberate.
Zuren's eyes softened. "Eighty years ago, the kingdom of Zeillos fell. Airnas was the last ruler before the Velmorian Empire conquered them."
Fhena's hands curled into fists on her lap, her fingers wrinkling the fabric of her dress.
"Who rules Zeillos now?"
"It's… complicated," Zuren admitted. "Technically, it hasn't been fully absorbed into the Empire—not officially, even after all this time. There's still resistance. Pockets of loyalists to House Airnas have risen up across the land. Rebellions continue in the name of their fallen crown." He paused. "The Velmorians have sent delegates to manage the region, but most citizens have already submitted to imperial rule."
Fhena's throat was dry, her heart stirred with grief—and something more. A flicker of familiarity. In her past life, she had once stood beside an amazon princess. A comrade, a friend. Perhaps that's why this struck her so deeply.
"But why?" she asked softly. "Why conquer Zeillos when they posed no threat? Has that changed?"
Zuren blinked. For a moment, he forgot he was speaking to a child. Her words, her presence—it was far from ordinary. She spoke not as a little girl, but as someone who had lived and remembered before.
"Well…" Zuren exhaled. "There are no proper records. No official histories. Only whispers. Rumors. I was born five decades and two years later, and even then, the stories were half-told, fractured. No one really knows the true reason."
"You're twenty and eight years?" Fhena asked, her brow raised.
Zuren chuckled and nodded. "Yes."
Fhena gave a small sigh and leaned back. She'd have to investigate Zeillos another day. Right now, there was something far more pressing.
She straightened and gestured toward the box. "Did Aefhen tell you to give this to me?"
Zuren's expression turned solemn. "Yes. He said it belongs to you."
And as he spoke those words, the gem pulsed faintly, as if it recognized her.
Fhena stared quietly at the golden-yellow topaz nestled in the velvet-lined box. A warmth pulsed from it—familiar, ancient, hers. Power stirred within, but she resisted the urge to reclaim it just yet. It wasn't time. Not here. Not without caution.
With gentle hands, she closed the lid.
"Thank you," she said softly, lifting her gaze to Zuren. "For keeping it safe all this time."
Zuren nodded, but his eyes did not leave her face. His curiosity had bloomed into quiet unrest. Since their first meeting, something had tugged at him—like gravity, or fate. He had sensed a strange resonance, something deeper than coincidence. And now, hearing her speak, seeing the ease with which she handled the gem, the way the room seemed to hum around her presence…
"Young miss," he said carefully, "who are you?"
Fhena's breath caught, her hands frozen over the lid of the box. The question wasn't accusatory. It was full of wonder—of searching. Of trust.
And something in her chest opened like a flower beneath spring rain. She remembered Aefhen's words: A man from the Chamber, a loyal companion, someone who will guide you and help you reclaim the power you once held and more.
And true enough a fourth gem was returned to her.
This was him.
She looked down at Sager, who gave a small nod—go on. And when she looked back at Zuren, she didn't see suspicion in his eyes, only quiet conviction.
"I am Nyala Nkosi," she said at last. "In this second life, I was reborn as Fhenadove Solléonis."
Zuren's eyes widened, but he did not speak.
"And this cub," she added, her hand brushing over Sager's head, "is Sager. A celestial guardian, bound to me."
Zuren stood frozen in place, eyes wide with wonder, the shimmer of tears beginning to gather. His mouth parted slightly in stunned reverence. And then, as if time resumed its flow, he dropped to one knee and bowed deeply.
"My lady," he said, voice trembling with emotion. "It is the greatest honor to stand before you. I am Zuren Nesher… descendant of Azuli Nkosi. I pledge myself to serve, guide, and protect you as your mage."
It was now Fhena's turn to freeze.
"Azuli? Azuli?!" she repeated, her voice cracking as her mind scrambled. "You're Azuli's blood?!"
Zuren chuckled, his laughter rich and heartful. "Truly, I am. And the last of his line."
"No. Way." Fhena blinked hard, utterly flabbergasted.
Her thoughts scattered wildly. Wait a minute… that would make me his… four-hundred-year-old grandma?! No, I wasn't blood-related to the Nkosi line, but still! I was Mazu's daughter—Azuli's older cousin's daughter—so technically that puts me somewhere up the family tree!
The realization made her soul spin. Azuli Nkosi—Mazu's little cousin, just six years old when the civil war tore through Solistia—had vanished, smuggled away by Mazu and their uncle, and was never heard from again. Even Mazu never spoke of him much. His family tree was guarded like a state secret. Most people never dared to question it, content to let the legacy of the reclusive Archmage fade into myth.
But now… here stood a living thread from that bloodline, weeping in front of her.
"I… I truly thought I had no family left in this world," Zuren said, rising with damp eyes and wiping them quickly on the back of his hand. "But here you are. A part of the Nkosi line's legacy… alive before me."
Fhena felt her heart bloom like a garden at spring's first light. The warmth was overwhelming, a joy so deep it melted the silence between past and present. She had found a new family in this life—but here was a piece of her old one, too. A piece of Mazu's past, standing before her like a miracle.
But then Zuren paused. A flicker of thought crossed his face, and his eyes widened once more.
"Wait," he said sharply, turning to Fhena with a dawning realization. "Did you say… you were a Solléonis?"
Fhena blinked at him innocently. "Uhuh."
Zuren stared at her in stunned silence, his mouth falling open again.
"You're kidding."