There was something in the air, as if the classroom, or the world, had held its breath.
Conversation died instantly.
At the front of the dais, the air convulsed, shimmering like heat above a flame. A thin violet line appeared—hair-width but impossibly bright—and with a soft, surgical pop, Draen Do’Gra was simply there.
Hovering a foot above the floor.
Hands clasped loosely at his sides.
Eyes already judging the class for existing.
“I know I shouldn’t be surprised,” he began, voice equal parts irritation and exhaustion.
“Here we are, a week away from your finals, and still you pile in like cattle awaiting slaughter.”
He chuckled.
A sound without humor.
“Mortals,” he sighed. “So be it.”
He drifted forward, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like fresh blood sliding down marble.
“For your final,” Draen said, “you will cast—or attempt to cast—five spells from various schools from a pool of ten.”
“At least one will be forbidden. One will be primal.”
“If you cast the forbidden one, Kor’Tunnai will eradicate you.”
He smiled thinly.
“Instantly. Automatic fail.”
A few students blanched. One fainted. No one dared look away.
“If you cast the primal… and survive…” He shrugged. “Immediate pass.”
He flicked his fingers. “My repertoire is… extensive. No two of you will receive the same spells. This prevents collaboration.” He paused. “And hope.”
“If you feel compelled to cheat, please do. I haven’t tortured a being in centuries.
Even I could use the practice.”
Draen clasped his hands behind his back, drifting in predatory silence.
“Now then. I intend to teach you something your other headmasters are too delicate, too precious, or too incompetent to explain.”
His voice dropped.
“Here is the truth: magic has a cost.”
The room tightened around the words.
“At its most basic, that cost is mortal nature. You will always want more. You will always push further. You will always seek the next boundary.”
“At my earliest stage, I was already leagues ahead of you, yet it still wasn’t enough. Even now—a headmaster of Eldaar, counted among the most powerful beings on this world—”
He leaned forward.
“—I am far from my peak.”
The silence said everything.
“So. What are mortals to do?”
A dwarven hand rose. Thick. Honest. Ringed in onyx.
“We should stick to what we can handle,” the dwarf said. “But we won’t. We’ll keep testing our limits. Or… find shortcuts.”
“Precisely.”
He vanished.
Reappeared at the front in a ripple of shadow.
“And that is the point. In seeking shortcuts, spellcasters forget that all magic demands payment.”
He raised three fingers.
“There are three common shortcuts. Not because they work, but because they kill you before you realize they don’t.”
1. Cult Magic
2. Blood Magic
3. Entreating the Dark Powers
CULT MAGIC
“Cult Magic,” Draen began, “is built on deception. From beginning to end, you are being lied to.”
The shadows thickened. A whispering chorus gathered, drifting from walls, ceiling, floor.
“It starts with promises. Flattery. Someone approaches you. They praise your ‘potential,’ your ‘destiny,’ or more likely, pity your inability to remove a stain from your robe.”
Nervous laughter. Quickly silenced by a glance.
“They whisper sweet nothings. Promise power beyond imagination. All you must do is join them. Spread their faith. It does not matter whether they worship a two-headed infernal, a sentient undertow, or a spiked-shelled snail.”
The whispers slid into every ear—honeyed, seductive, wrong.
“The symbol is irrelevant. What matters is the belief. The collective focus fuels the magic.”
“You will learn words you do not understand. Tear at reality. Revel in your newfound power. You’ll never once ask how this is possible. Or why.”
“You’ll recruit others. You’ll echo your patron’s voice without realizing it. Fellow cultists will vanish, and you will not question it.”
The buzzing rose—a swarm of meaning, a hive of promises.
“And when the power runs dry, when your cult needs renewal, you will be called to one final ritual.”
Draen’s voice softened.
“You will go willingly.”
“And you will slide down the gullet of your beloved snail-god, replenishing the magic needed to lure the next idiot.”
BLOOD MAGIC
“Blood Magic,” Draen said, “is a delightful misnomer.”
“It is not Hemomancy. Hemomancy manipulates blood as a focus.
Blood Magic uses blood to enhance your spells.”
“Divine casters feel their god’s love. Arcane casters feel… nothing.”
He sighed wistfully.
“Except occasionally, when casting something far beyond their limits. That rush is… intoxicating.”
He snapped his fingers.
Suddenly everyone became aware of their own heartbeat.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The sound grew louder. Faster.
“Blood Magic gives you that euphoria every time. And like all euphoria—”
The heartbeat thundered.
“—it becomes addiction.”
“You will store blood. Your own. Others. You’ll build reservoirs.”
The sound was deafening now. Students groaned, clutching their heads.
“These reservoirs attract nuisances. Lazy vampires. Overzealous heroes. Inconvenient paladins.”
The heartbeat abruptly cut off.
“Eventually, a single fireball will drain the last of your blood.
You’ll die smiling—face in the dirt, mind in the clouds.”
ENTREATING THE DARK POWERS
“The last shortcut,” Draen said, “is misleading.”
“Nobody with functioning intelligence entreats the Dark Powers.”
The room dimmed.
“The Dark Powers entreat you.”
Candles flickered. Their flames seemed smothered.
“It starts small. A cursed blade wielded intentionally. A spell spoken in the wrong tongue. A reagent drawn from forbidden innocence.”
“These things draw their gaze. And once you have it—”
The shadows swallowed the room.
“—you will never fully lose it.”
His eyes glowed in the darkness.
Then his smile.
Too wide. Too many teeth.
“You will receive a boon. Minor. Harmless. A taste.”
“That boon is a hook.”
“And now you are prey.”
“Push to far and receive more power.”
“Push further?”
“You will rule a realm of your own making. A domain shaped by your fears and regrets. You will be absolute monarch and eternal prisoner.”
“You will die there. Repeatedly.”
“You will not escape.”
“You will belong to them.”
With a snap, the candles blazed back to full brightness.
Students choked on the sudden light.
Draen dusted his hands as if he’d simply wiped chalk from them.
“Class is dismissed early today.”
He swept his gaze across the pale, trembling room.
“As I expect several of you to perish during tomorrow’s exam… do enjoy what may be your final day.”
The walls rippled.
The air shimmered.
Reality buckled—
—and Draen vanished without a sound.
A Darkness Rising 