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Asher was summoned by his master to accompany the older man as part of the local delegation that had been arranged to meet with the foreign sorcerers who'd mysteriously taken up residence not a full day's hike distant from their lands.

No one knew exactly who they were, where they came from, or—most importantly—what they wanted. But with the continued cruelty and incompetence of the late Lord's eldest son putting ever greater pressure on every community within his domain, there was quiet hope that the arrival of these mysterious newcomers would somehow change things for the better.

There was likewise the equally unspoken fear that any subsequent disruption to the ordinary course of their affairs would be even worse.

When the first far-ranging trapper returned to their village bearing the news, there was no small degree of skepticism.

The idea that a collection of wealthy and oddly mannered sorcerers had simply sprung up within the abandoned temple at the foot of the northern mountains was exactly the kind of nonsense you would expect a wandering fool with a fondness for smoking leaf to concoct after diving too deep in the bottle.

When more hunters, trappers, and herb collectors returned with similar news, people began taking the matter much more seriously. It also wasn't hard to persuade those same folk to keep quiet in other towns until they'd sent a proper party to investigate on their own terms before notifying the young lord.

As the most capable apprentice of the only learned thaumaturgist in the village, Asher's role was nothing more than to assist his aging master throughout the journey.

It was a long walk that took them deep into the red, rock-strewn sands of the region, and cold, too. At first, the terrain was open to the winds, with only the occasional rocky outcropping doing anything to break the icy gusts.

But as they moved further north, the ground sloped increasingly upwards, and the sands likewise gave way to nearly barren, windswept rock. Sadly, this didn't seem to help with the wind, as the air only seemed to grow colder.

Asher increasingly found himself wishing they'd taken the trip in the middle of the day, when the sands would be warm or even hot from the blinding, hellish light of the sun. But most of the party had decided the cold was preferable to a full day with no sleep and no respite from the harsh light that would suffocate the entire landscape and make sight as painful as it would be difficult.

At long last, they entered a long, rocky ravine that was supposedly the final stretch of their path to the old temple. The wind could no longer assail them, and Asher felt a great sense of relief.

Even the rangers among them, those men and women who spent much of their lives roaming in the far out places like this, seemed to find relief when the wind broke.

The only one who wasn't affected was, somewhat ironically, Asher's own master. Gallaghan, as he was called, was not just a learned thaumaturgist but also a spirit-bonded sorcerer. His spirit companion, Hooks, was supposed to follow alongside them, using his great strength to carry some of the party's load.

Yet when it became clear that it was going to be a particularly cold and windy day, Gallaghan and Hooks converged, with the former absorbing the latter back into his own spirit—much to the relief of a number of their party.

Hooks was a reaver spirit, and while such spirits were common and made for fairly popular familiar bonds, they were equally unpopular with many. This was due not to any rational fear, but simply due to their characteristically disturbing appearance.

Typically ranging between the size of a house lizard and a small pack animal, reavers spirits took the appearance of an unnervingly thin and bony creature with sickly, bare skin stretched far too taut over a frame that seemed to have at once too many bones and too little flesh. Their sharp, bladed claws and powerful jaws did nothing to put the already wary more at ease.

But to those who were used to the presence of such spirits, they were nothing more than ugly at worst. Hooks wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone without good reason, and doubly so if it would be without the knowledge or approval of Gallaghan himself.

Regardless, by converging with Hooks, Asher's master was able to exploit his bonded familiar's inherent ability to absorb everything from heat to liquids to magic. In this case, Gallaghan continually absorbed any extra heat he could wring out of the already chilly air, making the area right around him even colder but warming himself in the process.

At long last, the old and crumbling temple came into sight around a bend in the ravine. It was the first time Asher had laid his own eyes on it, and he found himself stunned.

For a structure that had been utterly stripped, abandoned, and left to the raw elements for quite some time now, it was an immense construction that surpassed anything Asher had ever seen outside of Riverbend, the town that functioned as the hub connecting their little region to the wider area and also as the seat of the local ruling lord.

Even in its current state of age and disrepair, the temple might still rival the lord's own manor—at least the outside of it. Asher could only admire the manor from beyond the surrounding gate and would not have been allowed entrance to see the interior for himself.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

If one thing became certain as they made the final limb to the main entrance—in its prime, the abandoned structure would certainly have overshadowed anything in Riverbend.

As the ground leveled out and the assemblage—numberng approximately two by ten in total—passed beneath the outermost archway, many of them, including Asher, got their first sight of the new inhabitants.

There were two guards stationed across the courtyard area they were now crossing. Tall and plainly dressed, the guards carried no discernible weapons other than some strangely shaped metal clubs.

Eyeing those potential weapons, Asher tried and failed to discern their intended purpose. The shape was bizarre and seemed ill suited towards use as, well, anything, yet the specific nature of the odd, complex design was an obvious sign that they were carefully constructed that way for a purpose.

An advanced rune construct, perhaps? There was also no sign that the items were in any way magical, but Asher would much sooner bet on it than not. The way they were held alone hinted that they might be weapons, so Asher decided the smartest thing to do would be to treat them as such.

He hoped that level of caution wouldn't ultimately prove necessary.

The guards clearly acknowledged them, with one raising their hand in clear greeting. It was hard to read the tone of greeting, but the basic level of acknowledgement was easy enough to understand.

Meanwhile, the other guard tapped one finger to their ear. After a moment of confusion, Asher realized they were communicating with someone inside. Amazing. The ability to use thaumaturgy to send messages over a short range was hardly unheard of, but it was still remarkable to see firsthand. I should learn how to do that one day.

Shortly after, their procession came to a stop at a polite distance away from the guards. They didn't have to wait long, as a smartly dressed womanservant opened the doors to admit them. It was at that point, however, that Asher—and likely many others—began to realize that the appearance of these people was in some way subtly wrong.

The most obvious characteristic was that all of them were seemingly missing their horns. Beyond that, they were all a bit too tall and broad—not enough to be exceptional by any means, but when it was all three, and considered together with their other features…

Finally, their faces seemed drained of all color, making them look deathly and bloodless. Asher suppressed a shiver. What are they?

A few quiet murmurs were all the sound other than their footsteps as the finely dressed womanservant led them within the inside halls of the temple. At first, they were all struck by just how brightly lit the place was.

It wasn't anything unreasonable—still enough to see comfortably by after their eyes adjusted—but it nonetheless seemed to Asher like a strange choice for receiving a friendly delegation. Yet what would I know about these things?

But after adjusting to the sudden brightness, they were all left stunned by the lavish and hauntingly ethereal interior.

Brightly glowing mists wove between polish stone columns, each of which was topped by a blazing inferno that rivaled the evening sun in intensity. They were the biggest source of heat and light, the former being something for which they were all doubtlessly thankful. It was comfortably warm within this great hall.

Great silken banners of many colors hung over their procession, each adorned with unfamiliar symbols and emblems. Shining among them were additional sources of brilliant light—curious enchanted lamps casting remarkable beams through the everpresent mists.

And, up ahead, looming over everything, was an incarnated spirit of tremendous size. The sheer bulk of the spirit's physical form alone was incredible. Formed entirely out of a smooth, glistening metal flecked with reddish gold, the being literally and figuratively overshadowed everything else in the temple.

Asher had never seen an incarnate spirit anything like this before, although he had heard tales of equally grand or even grander beings. There was little doubt, however, that a potential familiar like this would be the total envy of men like the young lord—and with few exceptions, would be as out of reach for minor nobility as they were for a common talent like Asher himself.

"Dragon spirit," Gallaghan said quietly from behind him, though his voice was impressed rather than awed like Asher's would have been.

Asher's master was not the typical small village shaman. His title of master was as official as it was earned—after a lengthy and lucrative career as a chartered thaumaturgist, he retired with his wealth to a remote area for, in his words, "simplicity and peace."

Unfortunately, "upstart youths" like Asher were more than quick to bother the old thaumaturgist and eager to prove their talent and determination. For them, it was only a matter of stubborn persistence.

Asher reasoned, then, that this wasn't the first experience his master had with rare and powerful spirits.

In an even quieter voice, clearly meant for only Asher to hear, Gallaghan continued. "She's at the high Gathering stage—and many of them are low or mid Foundation stage. I can feel nothing from their leader."

Asher failed to suppress a nervous twitch and shiver. Not just any sorcerers—Foundation stage? And that last part…

He and his master were the only learned thaumaturgists in any real sense among them, and only his master was a sorcerer as well—and even then, he was 'only' at the high Gathering stage, and even then he was very old.

There was well and truly nothing they could do against multiple high Gathering stage sorcerers, let alone even a single low Foundation stage. Finally, Gallaghan felt nothing from the leader, then that could only mean she was a non sorcer—a ridiculous notion—or that she was at least somewhere within the Core stage.

The realization of just how hopelessly outmatched they were suddenly switched from terror to a nihilistic sense of ease. There was nothing they could do beyond act polite and hope for the best. Oddly, Asher found a bitter relief with that realization.

As the procession came to a stop several strides distant from the towering throne of ghastly white bone, Asher focused most of his attention on the resting dragon spirit. In turn, the spirit observed them lazily with mild interest tinging its quiet gaze.

Asher found himself lost in the uncomfortably intelligent curiosity lurking in the blackness within that great, golden eye. He was so engrossed that he failed to realize that the first attempts at mutual communication were now beginning.

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