Page 19 of An Archer's Redemption

He looked down at his cuff and shrugged. “Theatrics and staging are powerful tools. That’s a lesson you would do well to learn, my boy.”

“It sure made me look twice. You still sure you want to do this? You’re taking on the weight of the entire magical world.”

“Look around us. The guild was devastated. Spirits, the whole capital is in ruins. Fewer than three hundred of my brothers and sisters survived—and that’s across the entire country, not just here. We aren’t just men with Gifts; we are teachers, inventors, historians. While most people will never know the role we play, every life in Melucia is improved by the work of the guild and our members.” Atikus sighed as only an old man can. “It will take generations to rebuild our strength. Most who survived are young or highly specialized. I have never wanted the burden of leadership, but sometimes life calls us for a greater purpose. After everything our people have suffered, how can I refuse that call now?”

Pride swelled in my chest as I stared down at my adopted father. He had always been wise, offering kind words and gentleguidance, but until that moment, I had never seen the depth of his commitment to magic and the people of Melucia. His was a life of service. I hoped, one day, I might walk in the shadow of his greatness.

“I guess you’re right. I don’t think there’s anyone else strong enough to lead the guild either, I suppose.”

“It isn’t about strength, Keelan.” Atikus shrugged and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

As we strode away, something in that simple act struck me as poetic, the closing of one door heralding the opening of another.

I always knew my path—to serve in the Guard, to protect others. Now, after losing Tiana in a failed search across the border and our nearly tragic parting with Jess, I wondered—for the first time—if the course I’d set all those years ago was meant for me.

I loved the Guard, but was it mycalling?

I shook my head at the irony ofmequestioning my place in the world while my perpetually lost brother blazed like a star for others to follow. It appeared someone had switched our roles without bothering to give us a gentlemanly heads-up.

We exited the living quarters and turned toward the tower grounds.

“Why are we doing this at the tower? It doesn’t work anymore, does it?”

Atikus nodded. “It is a symbol, an icon representing the might of magic in our world, the place of the guild in the lives of our people. Besides, I think you will find it still has its uses.”

With that cryptic pronouncement, we entered the tower square.

In the weeks that followed the siege, hundreds of men and Mages had worked tirelessly clearing rubble and debris from the tower’s destruction. Now, an empty courtyard spread before us, leading to the tower’s broken base. Every living Mage in theMelucian Empire stood assembled on either side of the central path, forcing us to walk down the center. The path itself was littered with hand-sized cerulean petals of a flower that flared as our feet pressed into them.

Mages on either side bowed deeply and remained in that position until we were well past.

I was startled by the display of reverence, but Atikus marched forward, head held aloft, as though he expected the courtly reception. When we passed Mage Fergus—Uncle Fergto Declan and me—the portly old Mage snuck a wink in my direction before bowing as low as his bulging belly would allow.

The Mages straightened and followed in orderly ranks until we reached the tower’s base. I made to step aside, but Atikus gripped my elbow and urged me to continue my escort up the stone steps, where three ancients in billowing robes waited. When we reached the top step, it was Atikus’s turn to bow.

The Elders echoed his respect.

The shuffling of feet behind us quieted. I glanced back to find every other Mage assembled in a semi-circle at perfectly spaced intervals. Each Mage’s right arm was stretched forward, hand held upward, with a ball of white light hovering above their palm.

The withered Elder in the middle spoke in a voice magnified by magic.

“Brothers and Sisters of Magic, the Arch Mage has fallen. A new Guardian must now take his place. By the Light of the Phoenix, who here bears two or more lines of gold and offers to serve?”

No one stirred.

I peered over my shoulder to find every Mage frozen. The snapping of their robes and whistling of the brisk winter wind was the only sound in the courtyard. When I turned back, Atikus lifted his palm before him, and bright azure flame flared to life.

The elderly Mage bowed and stepped back.

The other two joined him.

The trio began chanting in the Mages’ tongue, slow and rhythmic, almost soothing yet incomprehensible to my ears.

Tiny hairs on my arms rose as magical energy swelled from their incantation. I nearly fell backward when the Mages’ words swelled, and the shimmering image of a woman appeared before them. A broad smile parted her lips when her dark eyes landed on Atikus.

Then her gaze settled on me, and her expression shifted.

Her smooth brow quirked in confusion, then recognition, and her eyes opened wide. She stared for only a heartbeat, a warm smile parting her lips, before returning her focus to Atikus and speaking in a clear, rich voice.

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