Inside, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of aging wood and hearth smoke, the crackling fire casting shadows across the expensive rugs and tapestries adorning the walls. This was Agatha's home and the mansion back in Galadriel—a place where her father had trained her relentlessly in the arts of both magic and combat.
Agatha's earliest memories were of the sunlit mornings that streamed through the leaded windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. It was in the dim glow of dawn that her father would awaken her, his voice gruff and cold.
"Agatha, rise," he would command, his presence looming over her small bed like a specter. "Today, you will learn."
And so her days began, with exercises that tested both her physical endurance and her burgeoning magical abilities. The training room, adjacent to the main hall, was a cavernous space filled with the scent of sweat and old leather—a place where ancient tomes lined the shelves and magic symbols were etched into the stone floor.
Her father's lessons were unyielding, demanding perfection in every gesture and incantation. He would stand behind her, his voice a low rumble in her ear as he corrected her stance, adjusted her grip on any weapon she would use, or chided her for the slightest falter in concentration. His training was relentless, the hours stretching into days and weeks of unending repetition and exertion.
Agatha would wield her magic with the same determination she used to swing a wooden sword, her movements becoming fluid and instinctual over time. But it was not just the physical trials that shaped her; her father's teachings delved into the depths of her mind, probing the recesses of her memories and emotions.
In one particularly vivid recollection, Agatha stood in the middle of the training room, her father's voice echoing off the stone walls as he pushed her to summon her inner strength.
"Focus, Agatha," he urged, his words cutting through the haze of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. "You must learn to channel your emotions, not be controlled by them."
She closed her eyes, drawing upon memories of loss and sorrow—moments when she had felt utterly powerless and alone. The emotions surged within her, raw and potent, and with a flicker of concentration, she unleashed them in a burst of magic that sent ripples of energy crackling through the air.
Her father nodded approvingly, though a small frown still tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Good," he murmured, his voice softening for just a moment before he resumed his stoic demeanor. "You are beginning to understand."
But for every triumph, there were countless setbacks. Agatha would stumble in her incantations, her spells fizzling out or misfiring with disastrous consequences. There were moments of frustration and tears, nights spent staring into the embers of the hearth as doubts crept into her mind like tendrils.
Yet through it all, her father remained steadfast in his desire to watch her grow. He never relented in his expectations, pushing her to surpass her own limits time and again. The nights were often the hardest, when the weight of failure and fatigue threatened to crush her spirit. But each morning dawned anew, bringing with it the promise of another day to strive, to learn, and to grow.
Agatha stood and watched, there she saw herself, she was younger. Sweat dripping off her younger form's brows as she tried to focus her magic. Her father stood there, gaze as cold as ever and words as stern as ever. She was reliving a memory, she noted, and at least it was not one where she was being beaten within an inch of her life.
"This is supposed to be the trial?" She questioned with a murmur. Though her younger self and her father did not react to her words. "Just what am I supposed to do?"
This was all so confusing, one moment she was conversing with Isadora herself and the next moment she finds herself back home for this supposed trial. But what was that trial even? She kept asking that question but no clear answer presented itself.
"It should be obvious, duh!" Agatha blinked as an annoyingly squeaky voice assaulted her eardrums. The girl blinked twice, scanning the memory of the training area but saw nothing. "Up here!" Following the voice's instruction, she gazed upwards and there she saw it.
"A fairy?" She blurted out, she was small. About ten centimeters tall, she wore a small green dress and lacked any footwear, of course, there were her wings. Translucent with intricate and beautiful golden patterns adorning them. Her small head had luxurious golden-blonde hair and a pair of emerald eyes along with a button nose and a doll-like face.
"Congratulations!" The small fairy clapped her hands, though Agatha did not think she was sincere in said gesture. "You got eyes!" She stood corrected.
"Why are you here?" Agatha chose to ignore her pompous attitude and gauge for an answer. She had seen numerous creatures including fairies in Isadora's realm but what was one doing here? The small fairy rolled her eyes, as if she found the question annoying.
"I am the guide to the children of Isadora who have been chosen to inherit her will." She declared, a hint of pride in her squeaky tone. "I am Cor'nella, and I will help you realize your true dreams."
("A guide?") Agatha mentally mused. ("This is all so confusing.")
"Now, now let us not waste any time!" Cor'nella exclaimed. "You no doubt want to get through this as fast as I do."
"I do." Agatha nodded her head. "But I'm not even sure what it is I must do."
"There is nothing to do." The fairy declared much to the girl's confusion. Noticing Agatha's confused expression, she heaved a sigh as if she was somehow exasperated.
"The power is already yours, child." Agatha jolted as the sudden voice, whirling her head she saw Isadora once more. Her form shrunken to match her own.
"Goddess Isadora." Agatha mouthed, confusion still plaguing her.
"Greetings once more, my child." The goddess gave a warm smile, Agatha could not help but feel safe as she gazed at Isadora. It was not the kind of comfort she could even derive from her own mother, staring into the orbs of the Goddess was just a whole other feeling. "Your trials begin here but they are not hither." The Goddess explained as she cast a gaze at her younger self and her father. "Your journey will be a long one, Agatha."
"And that is why I am here!" The voice of the fairy Cor'nella interrupted. "In your realm, yours truly will be serving as a guide, so make sure to respect me, hm!"
"Now, now Cor'nella, I'm sure you'll find Agatha a compatible partner." Isadora stated before turning to Agatha. "Now, my child, go forth with my blessing and forth what you desire."
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As Asmodai stood amidst the city, a sudden change rippled through the air. The atmosphere crackled with a strange energy, and the ground beneath his feet trembled slightly. From the very fabric of the icy air, a blinding, piercing light erupted suddenly, dazzling even the demon's senses. It was as if a star had descended from the heavens, casting an ethereal glow over the broken city. He saw the knight Asmodai smile as he retreated with the downed Inheritor in tow but he paid them no mind.
He was more focused on the luminous spectacle where something emerged, a giant figure of breathtaking beauty and divinity towering over all. She floated forward, radiant and majestic—a deity of celestial proportions. Her form shimmered with an otherworldly luminescence, her long golden-blonde hair cascading around her like liquid sunlight. Eyes the color of deep emeralds glinted with wisdom and compassion, their gaze piercing through everything.
Clad in a gown that seemed woven from the very essence of nature itself, her dress was a clash of greens and gold's, adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to dance and shift as if alive. Each movement she made sent ripples of mana through the air, and the snowflakes around her seemed to hesitate in their descent.
Asmodai was accustomed to the power of Arcane Ascendance and he had battled his fair share of Inheritors as well through the many years, even so he found himself momentarily transfixed by her beauty and power. His crimson eyes narrowed, a mix of curiosity and wariness stirring within him.
The ethereal figure halted before him, the air around them humming with an almost palpable energy. Her voice, when she spoke, echoed like distant bells chiming through the icy stillness of the ruined city.
"Demon," her voice carried a melody that resonated deep within his essence, "I shall expunge you."
The demon's lip curled into a sneer, his pride pushing back against the overwhelming presence before him.
"Do not grow cocky, child." He scoffed. "You may have overwhelming power at your disposal but you are but a novice."
Asmodai glared at the one who ascended as he raised his hands to the sky. The air around him began to distort and ripple. Buildings nearby began to tremble and shake, and then suddenly, they were lifted off their foundations by some unseen force.
The first structure, a grand cathedral with intricately carved stone gargoyles adorning its walls, was hurled towards Agatha like a projectile. It was followed by several more buildings, each one larger and more imposing than the last. The ground shook beneath Agatha's feet as she levitated, her eyes fixed on the incoming barrage.
("What a feeling.") Agatha heaved a breathless sigh.
She raised her hands to the sky, and from her fingertips burst forth a torrent of swirling, ethereal energy. From this energy coalesced several spears of pure white light, each one spinning rapidly as they hurtled towards the approaching buildings.
The first spear struck the cathedral with a blinding flash of light, obliterating it in an instant with not even rubble remaining. The other spears followed suit, tearing through the structures with ease as if they were made of paper. The buildings crumbled to dust and rubble, sending plumes of snow and debris flying into the air.
("My knowledge, my power.")
Asmodai's grin faltered for a moment but he swiftly began conjuring another spell. However, before that, the ground beneath his feet began to churn and writhe like a living thing, and then he felt himself being lifted off the ground.
He was forcefully transported across the city in an instant, leaving behind the ruins of the buildings she had destroyed. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in an open expanse of a snowy landscape that stretched out to infinity. Agatha hovered meters away from him, a serene expression on her face.
With a simple flick of her wrist, roots burst forth from the ground beneath their feet. They sprouted like twisted vines from hell itself, stretching out towards Asmodai with an unnatural speed. Asmodai retaliated by summoning thousands of dark circular glyphs that swirled around him like a vortex. From these glyphs burst forth beams of powerful energy that shot towards the approaching roots like arrow after arrow.
But despite their ferocity, the roots showed no signs of slowing or halting their advance. They wrapped themselves around Asmodai like living chains, ensnaring him in an impenetrable cocoon.
Agatha's eyes gleamed as she raised her hand once more. A blindingly bright golden light erupted from her palm, illuminating the snowy landscape and casting long shadows across the frozen terrain. The light grew in intensity until it seemed to have a physical presence all its own.
And then it struck Asmodai with incredible force. The demon let out a deafening scream as he was enveloped by the light, which seemed to burn away his very essence. The light illuminated all, the night sky seemed to wash away as a result. It was as if day had forcefully invaded.
When the light finally died down, Agatha's form began to glow once more as she surveyed the transformed landscape before her. The snow-covered terrain had given way to lush green grasses and vibrant flowers that swayed gently in the breeze.
But even as she basked in the radiance of her creation, Agatha's eyes narrowed as she realized that Asmodai had teleported away before her attack could land. A disappointed sigh escaped her lips as she felt her body begin to shrink back down to its normal size.
Her eyes dimmed slightly as she collapsed to one knee, her exhaustion evident on her pale skin. She had expanded too much mana with keeping that form, and now she felt it contracting back down to its normal limits.
As she struggled to catch her breath, Agatha sighed.
("My mana is completely exhausted.") She adjusted her body to sit on the now grassy field. ("But that demon won't be returning any time soon, that last spell injured him no doubt.") She looked at the night sky in contemplation. ("How odd Arcane Ascendance is, when I'm in that form my power, my mana increases to an absurd point. Even so maintaining that form takes away from my base mana, when that runs out I'm back to this form.")
As her thoughts ran, she felt an enormous tremor assault the ground. It seems someone else was waging a battle.