Wizards are meddlesome creatures, and, Redava Kenderand is convinced, her greatest annoyance. Master, servant, thief, and noble. Her life has enough to balance with the Ethrael, the highest order of wizards, having their stronghold in Gazrae, the capital city of Westergras. But in the shadow and light she’s learned to balance her life until the Air Wizards arrive and send everything a kilter.

Zyndelin Mur has been entrusted with a desperate mission. Seek help of the Ethrael for the Athenaeum, home of the Alireri air wizards, is under relentless attack from a dark enemy. An enemy out of legends. The Ethrael’s magic is the only hope they have for driving them back. What price is too high when the darkness descends?

The Swindler

Eustis is the illegitimate son of an illegitimate son of an . . . well you get the idea. Unlike his forefathers, he isn't willing to accept his station. So Eustis is on a mission, and he is not going to let anyone stop him from being recognized. To achieve his goals, he needs gold. Lots of it. So after a chance encounter with a dragon, instead of demanding the retribution he initially craves, he glimpses an opportunity. Now, if only he can convince the dragon to go along.

The King

Draxon inherited a burden not of his choosing, but it’s his duty to protect the secret along with the kingdom. He wants the realm to remain orderly, peaceful, and above all quiet. The last is a bit hard with the largest royal family in the kingdom’s history under his roof. As if his brood wasn’t enough to deal with, a dragon starts rampaging through the countryside. When the uproar increases, Draxon decides to send out his knights before the secret can be revealed or there’s true chaos.

The Knight

Sophia’s never been the ideal princess, and that’s just fine with her. After all, her sister charmed the suitors being THE greatest beauty in the realm. Her brothers jostle constantly for the spotlight. All five of them. She could be shuffled out of sight. Until now. Her father has an arranged marriage planned, and Sophia isn't pleased. What’s a princess to do except take matters into her own hands? Riding out with sword in hand, she means to conquer the dragon proving her worth on her own terms.

The Dragon

Nuff was the born runt of the clutch. Always given the scraps and picked on by the other hatchlings. So when he defies all expectations to reach his coming of age, what’s he to do to build his hoard before time runs out? Disdaining pillaging (unlike his brothers), Nuff attempts another route. He can't understand why everyone reacts with screaming and terror to his polite requests. He's a peaceful soul. Really! He can't help how he was born, but he will fight against what he might become.

Sunlight is precious and the archivist’s duty to procure.

Life abord the pods follows in continuing rhythms: days spent working with brief cycles of sunlight. Sunlight the archivist alone can earn for everyone. Siena, Serenity Pod’s current archivist, toils in isolation from the rest processing the data Prime Pod transmits. Isolated is how Siena prefers it. At least sequestered in her cabin she doesn’t have to hear the others whisper about her failure to gain Serenity more sunlight cycles. Only Callan, her childhood friend, tries to keep her linked to the pod, if anyone. Even her parent’s don’t visit her. So Siena can’t imagine who gave her a pad with data to a mystery far deeper than the pod’s hull.

The Abbot walked around the desk sitting in the center of the space and sank down into the chair with a groan. “I had not expected such a long day for our homecoming,” he said as he motioning to a chair across the desk from him. “Next time you wish to summon us a miracle, let me know beforehand so I can be rested.”

Kelsig settled into the indicated chair shaking his head. “I did not ask for a miracle,” he objected. “I only asked for what we all want.”

The Abbot leaned back in his chair resting his arms on the desk. He closed his eyes. Something about his expression, Kelsig was not sure what, spoke of amusement. Almost as if a child had said something ironic to their elder without meaning. “After so long a miracle might be the only thing that will put everything it to rest. Now answer me truthfully, was that all you prayed for?” Arnkell finally inquired. “You were just praying for an end?”

Kelsig sat up straight in his chair frowning. “I answered your question, sir, truthfully. Do you have cause to doubt my word?”

Arnkell raised a hand from the desk flicking his fingers in denial to the accusation. “Nothing of the sort,” he said. “But over the years I have had the privilege of watching many Brothers of Grenmarr pray in that sanctum. I have seen many offer their words up to Grenmarr. I have seen the hope and arrogance, overconfidence, all of it written in the devout’s every move.” The Abbot snorted his amusement. “Whenever those are the motivation, they never stay longer on their knees than I. But that was not what I saw in you.”

Arnkell sighed opening his eyes he sat forward and took out a fresh piece of paper setting it on the desk before him. Kelsig realized he was giving him time to speak, if he chose when the Abbot picked up the quill without further comment. His hands rubbed his knees as he sat forward thinking. It was true that it had not been hope or any of the other motivations which had pushed his prayer.

He listened to the quill move over the parchment. It scrapped along the page leaving deliberate lines behind. Lines which traced where the tip had scratched at the paper. Raising a hand to his mouth he pressed a finger firmly against his lips, his other hand’s beating against his knee as he shook his head. He watched the Abbot’s eyelids twitch, but the man restrained himself from looking. A kindness Kelsig was not sure he deserved. A monk of Grenmarr had to be strong. Had to be prepared to fight at any time. They were all that stood between Geirland completely overrunning Deildara. Their people needed them, needed their devotion and training to guard the passes. Grenmarr and Miohas bore sacred burdens. And by choice, so did Kelsig.

Lungs protested from stinging cold as he drew in a breath. Arionn’s head felt heavy, and the inclination to move was beyond his grasp. He lay still in the weak sunlight nebulously shining through a swirl of colors. Stillness and dust hung thickly in the air.

His thoughts chased about inside of his head dancing beyond his grasp. Some were closer, some were father, and some he could feel slipping completely free from him. There was something he should remember. He was sure of that, but he could not get any thought to stay long enough to be sure what it was he should remember.

Arionn closed his eyes tightly trying to press the confusing tangle of thoughts away from him. Slowly, he worked on controlling his breathing and taking stalk of his body. Everything seemed fine if growing a bit numb from the cold hardness beneath him.

Finding his center he opened his eyes again, this time they focused. The swirl of colors resolved themselves into a dome far above depicting Vireeth’s teachings. In the center of it all the crescent moon shone down into the stone box he lay in. The dome, Vireeth’s temple. Thoughts tugged at the edge of his mind until exploding in a panic.

He shot up into a sitting position as his eyes searched the room for a sign of the monks or his sister. His assessment only yielded what his ears had already told him though. He was alone. A thick layer of dust coated the floor. The door to the room was missing. The covering slab lay broken in four pieces at each corner of the box.

Pushing himself up, he swung his legs over the edge of the crypt and landed shakily on the ground. His hands trailed over the corner of the slab nearest him assessing the edges where the stone had shattered. The stone was almost smooth under his hands. It had been broken cleanly in the center of the crescent.

As he raised his hand he looked at the heavy dust sticking to his skin. Temples to the Five Deity were found in every city, shrines in the village. Some fell into the disuse at times as a village or city's desires shifted between the pantheon. Disuse, but there was always at least one monk left to tend the structure or if small enough the relics were removed and it was shut up. Never had he heard tale of this. Vireeth’s temple, Vireeth’s coffin, left uncared for.