After I left the academy, I began my journey to find Xandros. I didn't wait. I didn't rest. I was determined. I asked around in every town. I passed innkeepers, drunk mercenaries, old mages too tired to lie. His name kept appearing in pieces: Xandros. The Cold Flame. The Mage Who Refuses All. No one gave me a direct answer. Just rumors. Warnings. Whispers laced with fear. Still, I followed them. Thread by thread. It felt like weeks. My boots wore thin. My patience thinner. But then I saw it.
Snow. Endless, silent snow.
A vast white plain stretched before me, chilled winds howling through the emptiness."Seems fitting," I muttered, pulling my cloak tighter. "The Cold Flame. Of course he'd live out here." I paused for a moment, staring at the frost glittering across the horizon. Why do they call him that, I wondered if he uses dark magic like me? As I stepped into the ice field, my breath rose like smoke before me. The cold bit into my cheeks, but I kept walking, driven not by warmth but by purpose. And then I saw it. A ruined temple. Distant and crumbling, half-swallowed by snow and time, yet unmistakably alive with magic. I felt it in my bones. The closer I walked, the heavier the air became. Not cold heavy. As if the shadows themselves were pressing down on the snow, waiting for me to step too far.
I stopped at the broken archway of the ruined temple. Faded runes lined the stone, chipped and half-swallowed by frost. I ran my fingers along them, feeling something pulse beneath the surface light. Not purity. Something deeper. Dark magic. Like mine. That was when I knew for sure.
He was here. I stepped inside, boots crunching lightly over snow-dusted marble. The world grew quiet. Too quiet. Even the wind outside seemed to vanish the moment I crossed the threshold. The darkness wasn't empty it was watching. I whispered an incantation under my breath, just to light a small flame at my palm not because I was afraid, but because I wanted him to know I wasn't walking in blind.
"Xandros," I said into the silence. "I know you're here." My voice didn't echo. It just hung in the air, like smoke that refused to rise. The flame flickered violently in my hand. And then I felt it. A presence like ink bleeding into water. Cold, quiet, immeasurably strong. He didn't step out right away. No dramatic entrance. No booming voice. Just silence. And then: "Most people don't walk in here with their name still intact." His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It slid out from the shadows like smoke low, sharp, unimpressed. I turned toward the sound, my flame still flickering at my palm. The air shifted. And then I saw him. Leaning against a crumbling pillar, half-shrouded in mist and stone, stood a man cloaked in black, silver-white hair falling past his shoulders. His eyes glowed faintly violet or blue, I couldn't tell in the dark, but I felt them pierce straight through me.
Xandros.
He didn't move. He didn't blink. "If you're here for a lesson," he said, "leave. I don't teach." "Good," I said calmly. "I didn't come to be taught. I came to prove myself." His eyes narrowed. The shadows around his feet stirred like they were alive. "You think you're the first?" he said. "The first demi-human, the first witch, the first angry child with something to prove?" I said nothing. Just met his gaze and waited. "Dark magic isn't shared," he said after a moment, his voice colder now. "It's survival." I stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. "Then we're not so different," I said. "Because I survived too." The darkness pulsed between us like breath. The flame in my palm shivered, then steadied. "Leave," he said. "Before you waste my time further." "If you wanted silence," I said quietly, "you should have built your fortress higher." I took one more step. "If you want silence," I said again, silver eyes locked on his, "you'll have to kill me for it." He watched me. Really watched me. Like he was peeling away every layer of me with just a glance at my power, my history, my pain. I didn't look away. His shadows stirred again, rising slightly like smoke drawn to heat. A test? A warning? I didn't care. "You think you're ready for what I am?" he asked finally. "No," I said. "But I'm ready to try." That made something flicker in his expression. Not a smile. Not approval. Just... recognition.
"What's your name?" he asked, though I was certain he already knew it. "Ravenna." The corner of his mouth twitched. I couldn't tell if it was amusement or disdain. "And you think your name will protect you here?" "No," I said. "I don't need protection. I need power. I need purpose. And I need someone who understands what it's like to survive what we were never meant to." The silence between us stretched, full of unseen things. Finally, he turned his back to me and walked deeper into the ruins. "You'll sleep in the cold," he said. "Eat what you catch. Bleed for what you learn." A pause. His voice echoed faintly: "If you break, don't expect me to care." I smiled again. It felt sharper than before. "I don't break."
He turned back to face me, expression unreadable. "Prove it," he said. I blinked. "Prove what?" "That you're not wasting my time. Shadows surged around his feet as he raised one hand not in a greeting, not in kindness but as a challenge. Dark magic shimmered in his palm like liquid obsidian, coiling upward in a silent, violent spiral. I didn't wait. I summoned my own incantation, low and sharp under my breath, and let the darkness answer me. It rushed to the surface faster than it should have, hotter than I expected. The floor cracked beneath my feet. His eyes flicked to the fracture. Just once.
Then he struck first. A whip of shadow lashed toward me. I ducked, rolled, let instinct take over. My counter came without thought of an arc of force that rippled with stolen heat. It missed. He was already moving. Gods, he was fast. I bit back a grin. So this is what power feels like. He whispered: "Umbrae surgunt." (Shadows rise). I countered: "Defende me, noctis pelle." (Protect me, cloak of night). His strike shattered against my shield of violet fire. "Is that all?" I spat, drawing a sigil midair."Ignis venias. Umbra ardeat!" (Come, fire, let shadow burn!) Black flame spiraled out. He barely moved, letting it pass. "Sloppy," he muttered. "Deliberate," I replied. The fire behind him exploded."Corruptio!" I cast. Decay-magic surged, but he raised a palm. "Silere." (Silence). The spell died. The world fell still. I staggered. Not from the silence, but from the weight of his gaze. "You fight like someone who's lived too long in fear," he said. "And you," I coughed, "you fight like someone who forgot what it feels like." He stared a moment. Then stepped back. The pressure vanished. I should have stayed down. But I couldn't. Not yet. Not with the fire still burning in my chest.
This wasn't just about proving myself anymore. This was about him seeing me. And I knew just the spell to do it. With quick thinking, I decided to use an incantation I hadn't dared summon in years. One I'd buried beneath memory and fear. But now, I reached for it not with dread but with purpose."Tenebrae caliginis, mistio mentis. Umbrae confusio, hostem perturbo. Mentis turbatio, visio obscuro In tenebris, errant et periclitantur." (Darkness of fog, mist of mind. Shadowy confusion, enemy perturbation. Mental turmoil, vision obscured In darkness, they wander and stumble). A deep purple mist erupted around Xandros, swirling unnaturally. I watched his stance shift, his breath quicken. He stumbled. His head jerked slightly, trying to see what wasn't there. He was confused momentarily, completely. He swung at illusions. Turned toward phantom threats. My heart raced not from fear but from the thrill of having turned the tide. Then he stopped. The mist pulsed once. Then twice. And he whispered, "Expurgo." (Cleanse). The fog shattered around him like glass, dissolved into nothing. And there he stood. Still. Furious. Focused. Before I could breathe, he was on me. My back hit the ground. The wind flew from my lungs. Magic pressed down on my chest like a blade. "You should've ended it," he said. "I'm not finished," I choked. "Then try again." I glared at him admiration tangled with hatred, wrapped in reluctant respect. I wasn't done. He thought he'd ended the match. Thought I'd stay down. He doesn't know me. I whispered the incantation that had once saved me not with fear but with joy:"Tenebrae inferno, canes ignis. Voco vos, ab inferis. Sanguis et ignis, vinculum nostrum Servi mei, adsumus." (Darkness of hell, dogs of fire. I call you from the underworld. Blood and fire, our bond. My servants, I summon you). Three pentagrams scorched into the stone. The heat rose. And then they came. Hellhounds. Their eyes glowed, bodies rippling with black fire. They circled between me and Xandros. They didn't growl at me. They waited. They respected me.
"Still think I'm wasting your time?" I asked. One hound growled. Xandros didn't move. And in that silence, I saw it: Recognition. He saw me. Not as a student. As something else. He exhaled. "You're not what I expected." "Good," I said. "Expectations are easy to destroy." "Call them off." "Return," I whispered. They obeyed. He turned to leave. "If you're staying," he said, "you'll work for it." "I expected nothing less." He paused. "Don't disappoint me, Ravenna."
I smiled. I won't.