88: The Queen’s Secret (Part 1 of 3)

88: The Queen’s Secret (Part 1 of 3)
As the aftereffects of the spell show, whispers are still threading through nobles and monarchs alike. Seven mages demonstrated the most extraordinary of abilities, and there they stand in an open space before the throne, expressions varying from pride to quiet contemplation.
Elara studied them, her gaze steady, calculating.
The other stood near her, Alden's presence at that moment dense and quiet in the room. He had seen power before, had held it and commanded it, but even he could not deny that what these seven had done was beyond ordinary magic.
Elara finally rose from her throne, moving rather slowly and deliberately. The hall quieted at once.
"You all have shown remarkable powers," she said as her voice carried across the chamber. "The kingdoms will also be proud of having chosen their mages."
Several heads of state nodded, all too smug and self-satisfied.
Elara smiled slightly and tilted her head. "But pure raw power does not make one truly powerful." She turned her gaze over the seven mages. "Control. Mastery. Understanding how deep one's power reaches… that is where true strength lies."
She stepped forward onto the dais, her gown draping behind her like liquid silk. The mages stiffened slightly when she was within their distance and each of them raised their eyes to meet hers.
"Do you really understand your capabilities?" she asked, with an equally soft tone. "Or do you merely manipulate them, unasked to use the forces that you command?"
The mage who controlled the vines—the elder—all draped in ivy, folded up his hands. "I have been studying magic for decades, Your Majesty," he said. "I think I know my limitations."
Elara smiled through her amusement. "Do you?"
A flicker of doubt crossed his face.
"Speak to me," she continued, her voice like silk. "Have any of you seen the future?"
A murmur broke loose among them.
Frowning with the young mage who had done speed-magic, Elara explained, "Yes," and turned her back. Slowly, she began pacing. "Time is thought irrevocable: that what is in front of one cannot be glimpsed but only lived." She turned back with the same smile: a knowing snap to her lips. "It is false."
Now, they stared at her, actually intrigued.
The illusionist, the woman in deep red, narrowed her eyes. "You mean you can tell what is to come?"
Elara merely smiled. "Would you care to see for yourselves?"
The hall was silent. Even the nobles, who were there in great numbers, leaned in, curious looks dancing in their eyes.
"Well, how would you show us?" spoke the shadow mage, the litanist who called up abyssal creatures-the deep organs then moderated to speak.
Elara's smile deepened. "Come follow me,"
Then she walked toward an auxiliary entrance, her gown accompanying her like mist. The seven mages exchanged looks before they were heading in the direction she had taken. Alden remained there, watching them pass into the arch.
The corridor beyond was dimly lit, torches flickering along the stone walls. The mages moved cautiously behind Elara, some whispering among themselves.
"This is somewhat unusual," murmured the old mage with the vines.
"But she is the queen," replied the illusionist, though there was an element of uncertainty in her voice.
Elara drew them in deeper into the castle, through corridors known to almost no one, the air here feeling heavier, something unnoticeable falling thickly in its flow. Finally, she stopped at terrible doors-large, carved with great detail upon the finest polish such that they gleamed like the finest satin in the dim torchlight.
She turned and showed them, "What you are about to see is rare. A gift known only to me.
With a hardly perceptible touch of her fingers, the doors swung open, exposing a huge space behind them.
Inside the room were mirrors.
From floor to ceiling stretched the endless reflections in every direction. The flickering lights of the torches sent out eerie pulses against the polished glass surfaces, rendering the room both infinite and suffocating.
The mages hesitated at the threshold.
Elara stepped in without pause and turned to them. "Come," she beckoned. "See your fate."
One by one, they entered in.
The mirrors first showed them, as normal, then without distortion. But then changed.
The first to gasp has to be the young acceleration mage. His reflection changed, not to what he was, but to what he could be: an older, more powerful version of himself… but, beneath it, something else. Something within twisted the image of himself to show him broken, unable to move, his body crumbling under unseen weight, and his greatest strength—his speed—gone.
His breath caught.
"What is this?" he whispered.
Beside him, the illusionist was entranced. Her reflection presented not just a future for her; it sprawled out in endless forms of herself. Some fabulous had reigns in courts; others nothing more than broken echoes, illusions themselves, vanishing into nothingness.
"I…" she breathed, reaching out as though to touch the glass.
The vine mage stiffened. He saw himself as a great old, frail, and powerless figure, watching his creations wither, for his reflection showed great thriving forests that then rotted underneath into black lifeless husks.
Panic flickered in his grey eyes.
One by one, the mages fell into the trap.
Their greatest hopes and deepest fears mixed in those reflections, captivating their thoughts and consuming them. Some reached for the glass as if it might take them inside; others shivered and could not look away.
Elara moved about them like a shadow, quiet and still, as her hands curled slowly and breathing at all.
They did not notice.
She kept on carefully siphoning it, bringing the magic in herself, strengthening the core of her being. It was intoxicating—the sensation of power leaving them, flowing now into her veins, making her stronger by the second.
Her eyes flickered at the acceleration mage, the first to falter. His hands wavered, knees buckling nearly.
"What-" he gasped, but his voice sounded far away, as though dazed.
Elara tilted her head, calmly. "You see, don't you, the truth?"
His breath came shallow. His reflection showed him a prisoner of time, frozen in place. The irony of it—the fastest man unable to move—was almost poetic.
His legs finally gave out.
The illusionist collapsed next, her mind drowning in the infinite versions of herself, unable to tell what was real.
The vine mage sagged against the wall, his strength fading as the visions consumed him.
One by one, the mages fell.
Elara continued her slow circle, drinking in their magic, careful not to drain too much. If they died too quickly, suspicion would arise. No, she had to be precise, careful. Their life force was tempting, but she had more patience than greed.
She turned, her gaze finally falling on the last of them.
The shadow mage.
Unlike the others, he had not stepped forward. He remained near the entrance of the room, his eyes flicking over the mirrors, calculating.
His lips curled in a smirk. “Illusions?” he asked, voice smooth.
Elara’s expression did not falter. She stepped toward him, her gown whispering against the floor. “Would you like to see for yourself?”
He watched her, assessing. He was different from the others—dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with his magic. There was something raw about him, something sharp and unpredictable.
Elara smiled. A different approach was needed.
She moved closer, her fingers grazing his arm. “A man like you… must have seen many things,” she murmured.
His smirk deepened. “And yet, you intrigue me.”
She let the tension build, let the silence stretch between them, thick and charged.
Then she whispered, “Let me show you something… special.”
And just like that, he followed her deeper into the room.
She had him.