The Border Fort squatted on the empty plain of the frontier: its jagged silhouette small and unmagnificent. The name was a definition-its lack-it was a place that existed rather than because it was majestic or because it met some other greater need. Soldier called it Border Fort, which eventually had settled to the place as flat, practical as trenches carved into landscapes around it.
Larin and his friends returned to this place, tired but not moved. The air at the fort was charged with a tension that had never been sensed before. The few soldiers who still remained were a few, most off on duties or enjoying brief respites in towns far away. The emptiness made the fort seem bigger, its corridors echoing with footsteps and the occasional distant laughter.
Tyrs and Mynta, the enigmatic pair who had taken the group under their wing, oversaw the alterations in the fort. Trenches appeared to stretch around the stronghold like veins, and reinforced manasteel bunkers shone in the dim sunlight. Each addition was a testament to preparation; something was coming, and the fort was bracing for it.
Amidst this, Tyrs and Mynta's focus on Larin's group grew sharper. Their tutelage intensified, diving deep into the complexities of Chaos Theory, a magical discipline that twisted conventional understanding. Under their guidance, the group grew not just stronger but also more attuned to magic's essence.
"Magic isn't something you wield," Tyrs said one evening, his voice a mix of sharp clarity and quiet reverence. "It's something you let become a part of you. It doesn't submit; it merges."
Mynta nodded, her hands tracing sigils in the air as she added, "Chaos Theory is about seeing the threads that others miss. The chaos isn't random-it's possibility. When you can grasp that, you'll find 'true' magic."
The group soaked in the lessons, each member uncovering unique aspects of their power. Larin found himself drawn to spells that manipulated balance—forces that pushed and pulled, disrupted and harmonized. Ngieri's magic grew quieter but deeper, his spells rooted in the subtle connections between nature and its hidden rhythms. Gwendon's focus was sharp and destructive, her spells precise as a scalpel. Rinku's understanding of arcane systems became almost mathematical, his precision in spellcraft unmatched.
As they went through their books, a growing hunger gnawed at them. One night, as the flickering embers of a campfire lit the darkness, Larin finally opened the question that had tortured him since he and Mynta had seen the fish-beasts.
"Tyrs, Mynta," he began, his voice uncertain, yet resolute, "those creatures. the ones who flattened mountains as if they were dry dust. what were they?"
In fact, for one moment, that only sound was crackling fire, and Tyrs' face drew darker, then Mynta's fingers seemed to tighten around mug she held so well.
"You've seen them?" Mynta's voice reached barely above the whisper.
"Personally, I haven't seen them," said Ngieri hastening, "but we witnessed the results; and it's overwhelming."
Tyrs exhaled sharp, shaking head. "Not here. That deep in the Kirat. They shouldn't be."
"But who are they?" Gwendon pressed hard.
"A question that carries danger just in the asking," Mynta said. "They are from beyond—beings of the deep void, travelers from realms we barely understand. They shouldn't have this kind of power, not here, not now."
"What does that mean for us?" Rinku asked, his analytical mind already dissecting implications.
"It means," Tyrs said, leaning forward, "that the game is changing. And whatever is coming, it's bigger than the Kirat Empire, bigger than Sinlung itself."
The weight of the revelation lingered in the air, but no answers came. Only more questions.
As the days passed, the group's bond strengthened, even as the inevitability of their separation loomed. It was Tyrs and Mynta who delivered the news, their voices measured but solemn.
"You have grown," Mynta said, her eyes running over each of them. "But growth doesn't end here. Your next steps require solitude."
"Separate assignments," Tyrs added. "To test you, to prepare you."
The missions were as varied as the individuals themselves.
"Larin," Mynta said, her eyes unwavering, "you will travel to the capital of the Kirat Empire. Your uncle, Ted, has called for assistance. His position is precarious, and he will require someone he may trust."
Larin nodded, feeling the burden settle upon his shoulders.
"Ngieri," Tyrs said, "Mogolo, the island beyond the Luxo Ocean. It's a place of spirits and whispers—ideal for one such as yourself."
Ngieri grinned weakly and offered a little nervous smile. "I'll make the spirits talk," she quipped, almost half-jesting.
"Gwendon," Mynta continued, her voice firm, "you are headed to the Pamchai Plains. A broken land, full of old grudges and new dangers. Do whatever you must do to bring order, or at least stability."
Gwendon nodded sharply, hand already resting against her weapon.
"Rinku," Tyrs concluded, "you'll join the scholars and mages in the capital, deep in the archives. Your mind will lead this mission—decipher, organize, and guide the scientific teams there."
Rinku's eyes lit up, though his lips pressed into a thin line. "I'll make sense of their chaos," he said.
But it wasn't to be easy with separations so stark. Time apart would measure out in long, lonely stretches of years gone and paths differently laid.
On that final night they stood together again by the open flame of their last campfire, the silence in the Border Fort was oddly subdued, even still, it seemed, making a preparation to lose them.
The air was heavy with unspoken words and the roasting slices of megatusk boar brought forth the crackle of flames. Pass another jug of strong liquor between them, and the long pause ends with laughter and stories.
"Do you remember when Rinku tried to decipher that spell and set his hair on fire?" Gwendon teased, her laughter contagious.
"Hey!" Rinku protested, though he was laughing too. "It was a calculated risk. And it worked, didn't it?"
"Sure, after you doused the flames with half the river," Larin added, grinning.
Ngieri shook her head, smiling. "I'll miss this. All of it."
The mood shifted as the night wore on, the laughter giving way to quieter moments of reflection.
"We'll meet again," Larin said, voice steady. "Stronger, better. We owe each other that."
"Agreed," Gwendon said, lifting her mug to clink off his own.
"To the future," Rinku declared and clinked his mug together with Gwendon.
"To us," said Ngieri with a voice softly but unmistakable in his commitment.
Tyrs and Mynta joined them after midnight but brought with them a ground reality that no words could ever bring. The mentors were not saying much, but the way they sat with the group was enough to convey their approval of the moment.
They stayed there, however, all through dawn, once the fire had finally burned out, lying there, exhausted, but unwilling to leave. Separation was inevitable, but for one night, they had found something timeless—a bond forged in fire and magic, in laughter and tears.
It was the sun which broke through eventually. When it did, no one said anything about the promises they would inevitably make to meet again. Somewhere, sometime. And when they did, they would be ready.