Prologue

"I give no answers to life, only ask questions and present possibilities." - Max Chester

      “…Are you sure this is the only option left?”

      “…Yes…we have no other choice.”

      “But Lana-”

      “Advisor Alon! You should keep formalities while we are in a public place, even a hall.”

      “But Master Estur, the dangers involved are-”

      “I know. It hasn’t been done for ages… for good reason, too. Yet the times are desperate; the need is great… Here it is.”

      The two arrived at a pair of large, rusty doors. The young advisor lifted a large, circular handle and strained to pull the metal entry open. The smaller wizard marched right in, raising her left hand which began to illuminate and brought some much-needed light into the room. Her attire consisted of a long (for her at least, being hardly five feet tall), short-sleeved robe of pure white with a blue and green lining. It was more of a dress than a robe with its thinner cloth and excessive frills, but she nonetheless upheld and did, for the most part, respect the traditions of the great wizards of the past. She made sure to be technically wearing a robe, even wearing a belt, though tied at the back and covered by her blue extended vest, not that anyone in the country could really force her to change. Her eyes were green, hair was white, and she had, like nearly everyone in the land, a small stripe on each cheekbone. Her’s was blue, no symbolism behind it, just blue. She could change it to any color with simple thought but had no desire to change it. Blue satisfied her quite well.

      Behind her, the advisor hurried into the dome-shaped room. He was six-foot and thinly built, but was roughly the same age as the magician, seventeen by our standards. He had short, blond hair and grey stripes on his cheekbones that matched his eyes. Most assumed that he chose grey to match his eyes and outfit, but no one really knew the reason. He wore a red trench coat that could be described, strangely enough, as formal. It was unfastened in the haste of the situation revealing his white t-shirt and grey pants that were far more casual than an advisor would wear. He then caught up with her.

      “Mast- no, Lana, are you sure this will work?”

      “No,” she softly spoke as she used her free hand to trace the large magic circle imbedded in the stone floor, a faint glow following her path, “But we need to do it… we need them.”

      He didn’t want to admit it. He hated admitting things. He hated his inert blood. He hated his inability to do anything himself, anything to help. So he used the only thing he could. Words.

      “Please be careful… my sweet Lana.”