A Court of Dreams and Phantoms

Chapter 8

Azriel

After three weeks of spending nearly every day together, Azriel had learned Gwyn's tells. From the set of her shoulders to the crease in her brow, it was obvious something was on Gwyn's mind that morning. He purposefully used incorrect form while practicing the eight pointed sword movement just to try and coax a witty barb from her. She didn't even notice it.

Something was wrong. This had been going on the last few days.

If it was anyone else, Azriel would have let it go. But he was becoming attached to the priestess. She had convinced him to shed his stoic mask and share the burdens he had been carrying the last few months. She listened, but did not judge. She did not try to convince him that his feelings were unfounded, or his guilt misplaced.

She did not balk at the morbid history of shadowsingers they had managed to uncover. He expected her to look at him differently, especially after they confirmed that shadow magic manifested primarily when one experienced severe trauma, long periods of isolation, and abusive familial relationships. The priestess had only asked him if that aligned with what he knew. Rather than asking him to elaborate, or gazing at him with pity, she merely nodded, crossed some things off her list, and moved on.

He appreciated that more than she could possibly know. Even his best friends still flinched whenever his past came up.

Gwyn's efforts had begun to change the way he thought about his powers. His perception was colored by his own resentment for his shadow's origins, and his research was inadvertently biased by his beliefs. But the half-nymph refused to bend, insisting that the history he yearned for went beyond dark magic.

The previous morning, she triumphantly dropped a very large, very old tome on their table.

"I believe you will find this particularly enlightening," she had said.

Upon reading the title page, he looked up at her with confusion. "This is a religious text."

"I know," she replied, "but look anyway. I bookmarked the page."

So Azriel looked, just to humor her, and to avoid her wrath. Defying her wishes was getting harder by the day.

It is undisputed that the Mother works in mysterious ways. At times, Her creations go beyond the reason and logic we yearn for. However, it is important to remember that the Mother demands balance in all life. Where there is good, there must be evil. Where there is light, there must be dark. Where there is joy, there must be pain. And where there is life, there must be death.

The elemental magic of the Fae provides a prime example. Day meets Night. Dawn meets Dusk (assuming the historical Dusk Court did once exist). The decay of Autumn balances the growth of Spring. The crystal blue waters of Summer are frozen solid by the icy winds of Winter.

But the Mother's merciful balance goes beyond that of Prythian's courts. Witches, for example, who attempt to harness more magic than the Mother granted them, must sacrifice parts of their soul to do so. Those who seek to avoid death often lose their ability to grant life, living infertile for the rest of their days. If seeking eternal youth, one may find themselves turned into a crone. Should a witch wield her power over others, trying to bend them to her will, she may find herself a slave to said power, unable to control it until it finally consumes her.