Act I Scene I - Upon the Heights...
It was said that on the heights, one could speak to the stars directly. The higher the tower, the greater the mountain, the closer one became to the stars in their lofty heavens. The higher up, the surer one's prayers were to be heard.
Following that tale, a Drakanite guide had led Lucas here, to the Thousand Footholds, the gateway to the uppermost peak of the Dragon's Teeth: that part of the Tarian Range that loomed over the Essharan nations. After last night's chastisement, he couldn't waste time waiting for Amo-Amo-Amo to lead him to her people's elemental groves or pools. His blood was hot with determination; a will to break free of fear and to wrest control over the magic that dwelled within him. And yet now, as he looked up at the path, he realized the task he'd set before himself.
The Thousand Footholds lived up to its name. Here at the base it began as a carved stone path, no more than a hand-span wide, etched into the steeply graded cliffside. It wound its way up the face, sometimes doubling back along itself to reach a better slope. He could see further up that the mountain eased back some. There the path was covered in snow and scree-gravel, as dangerous to the climber as shifting quicksand, and prone to avalanche. Somewhere up there, the guide assured him, was a simple spot for respite. A plateau where generations of Fireblooded adherents had camped on their way up to taste the storms. And from there... From there he had to climb.
For Magi it would be an easy feat, but he was no true Mage. Not yet. Even if he carried nothing it would have been a herculean task. With gear and supplies, he would be lucky to make it halfway.
Well, maybe this was what Symphonia had meant when she said that magic came to those in life-threatening situations.
He laughed to himself, shaking his head. "Geez... If I think any more about it, I might not go." The young man turned his head upwards towards the peak, his eyes on the distant stone but his mind returning to the events of the past few weeks. If he quit now, Duniya would surely be smug about it. She would be proven right about him. The thought of having to admit defeat like that made him flush with anger. It was just like Moa-Moa-Moa had said. The Fireblooded leader knew the right things to say to make you so mad you did what you ought to do. That in itself was maddening. It felt like manipulation, but at the same time he doubted she even knew she'd helped him along. It was blunt honesty that angered him, and for good reason.
But he resented the push she'd given him much less than he resented her other words... Star-lover, she had called him... An insult to his faith in the Heavens. She said she would see Osrona burned to ashes... Challenged him to cast his lot with one side or the other, in a war whose origins he barely understood.
This was the long shadow cast by the man he could become. The web of duty and honor that motivated righteousness, yet seemed to weigh down the kind Knight Sasha, who had promised to guide his studies if he returned. From her words of warning he understood this much: responsibility rests heavily on those who choose to wield power. The only way he could defend those he cared about, and perhaps bring closure to the conflict that tore at his newfound friendships, was to accept that burden on his shoulders.
He gritted his teeth. The mountain beckoned.
Following that tale, a Drakanite guide had led Lucas here, to the Thousand Footholds, the gateway to the uppermost peak of the Dragon's Teeth: that part of the Tarian Range that loomed over the Essharan nations. After last night's chastisement, he couldn't waste time waiting for Amo-Amo-Amo to lead him to her people's elemental groves or pools. His blood was hot with determination; a will to break free of fear and to wrest control over the magic that dwelled within him. And yet now, as he looked up at the path, he realized the task he'd set before himself.
The Thousand Footholds lived up to its name. Here at the base it began as a carved stone path, no more than a hand-span wide, etched into the steeply graded cliffside. It wound its way up the face, sometimes doubling back along itself to reach a better slope. He could see further up that the mountain eased back some. There the path was covered in snow and scree-gravel, as dangerous to the climber as shifting quicksand, and prone to avalanche. Somewhere up there, the guide assured him, was a simple spot for respite. A plateau where generations of Fireblooded adherents had camped on their way up to taste the storms. And from there... From there he had to climb.
For Magi it would be an easy feat, but he was no true Mage. Not yet. Even if he carried nothing it would have been a herculean task. With gear and supplies, he would be lucky to make it halfway.
Well, maybe this was what Symphonia had meant when she said that magic came to those in life-threatening situations.
He laughed to himself, shaking his head. "Geez... If I think any more about it, I might not go." The young man turned his head upwards towards the peak, his eyes on the distant stone but his mind returning to the events of the past few weeks. If he quit now, Duniya would surely be smug about it. She would be proven right about him. The thought of having to admit defeat like that made him flush with anger. It was just like Moa-Moa-Moa had said. The Fireblooded leader knew the right things to say to make you so mad you did what you ought to do. That in itself was maddening. It felt like manipulation, but at the same time he doubted she even knew she'd helped him along. It was blunt honesty that angered him, and for good reason.
But he resented the push she'd given him much less than he resented her other words... Star-lover, she had called him... An insult to his faith in the Heavens. She said she would see Osrona burned to ashes... Challenged him to cast his lot with one side or the other, in a war whose origins he barely understood.
This was the long shadow cast by the man he could become. The web of duty and honor that motivated righteousness, yet seemed to weigh down the kind Knight Sasha, who had promised to guide his studies if he returned. From her words of warning he understood this much: responsibility rests heavily on those who choose to wield power. The only way he could defend those he cared about, and perhaps bring closure to the conflict that tore at his newfound friendships, was to accept that burden on his shoulders.
He gritted his teeth. The mountain beckoned.