23/ A Taste of Power

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The world around them materialized as their feet hit the floor. Zenara's head was tucked in Ron's chest, hands firmly wrapped around his neck. His hold grew tighter on her, and she looked up to see him smile. It nearly made her melt. 

"You know," he started, "if I had known how much you would miss me if we spent years apart, I would have taken you to the King earlier."

She rolled her eyes, a playful smile forming at her lips. "I'm not the one threatening to squeeze the life out of me, am I?"

"Tell that to the chokehold my neck is currently endangered by."

Zenara let out a laugh, something she hadn't done in such a long while. Besides when she was under the throes of hysteria back in that hole. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "I've missed you, Ron," she whispered

He brought his face close to hers. Zenara gazed at those pink lips and fought the surprisingly fierce urge to bite on them. We would most likely end up naked. Instead, she focused on his electrifying blue eyes. It was like a tornado charged by lightning, sucking her into the center of those charged depths. They were filled with an intensity that made her shiver. "Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought of you."

"Thought of me, or sex?"

He grinned. "Why not both?" 

Zenara lightly hit his shoulder. She would have been offended if she hadn't seen the truth in his eyes. So many roiling emotions in those orbs, all she wanted to explore. She swallowed.

"Can't you even pretend to notice your best friend?" Nalia harrumphed.

Ron frowned. "I thought I was your best friend."

Zenara choked on another laugh and moved from Ron's embrace. Standing on her bare, dirty feet, she finally took her friend in. 

Nalia had traded in the rest of her mass for muscle, and her body was tenser than she remembered. Her face was traced with hard lines, with her jaw set in a firm lock. The years had shaken off the relaxed youth Nalia once had been. In her stead was a stronger, fiercer woman with a vicious glint permanently etched in her eyes. But that was all dulled by the smile that now took over her lips.

"I've missed you so much, Nalia," Zenara sighed, embracing her comrade with a warmth that made her own heart thaw.

"Hey," Ron interrupted, crossing his muscled arms across his chest. "Did you miss her more than me?"

Zenara pulled back to see Nalia glare at his brother. "As you can see," Nalia began, eyes never faltering, "my life has been a living hell without you."

"A damned conspiracy, this all is," Ron muttered to himself.

Zenara flashed him a smirk. "I've missed you both."

"But at varying intensities, I see."

She shook her head as she detached herself from Nalia. Allowed herself to sink back onto the feeling of safety. Just these few minutes had managed to chase away the shadows of desperation and dementia that had consumed her only hours ago. Gratitude surged within her heart, wanting them to know how much they had done for her just by existing. She instinctively began to open up her mind, before she remembered.  A little light faded from her gray eyes.

Seeking a different topic, she turned on both of them. "Why didn't you come for me sooner?"

"I think we came quite on time, Zen," Ron stated, a smirk plastered on his face.

She grunted. "If you call fishing me out of a well with death clinging to my body 'on time' then sure, you did a splendid job."

Ron leaned against the wall with satisfaction. "Another compliment? This is a day to tell our children about, someday."

Zenara rolled her eyes and turned to Nalia, brows arching.

Nalia took a deep breath. "The High Official ordered against it. He...was looking for...the right time to save you."

Her eyes narrowed. "My time of death is the 'right time'?"

Nalia turned to Ron, eyes pleading. Interesting, Zenara thought. Is she lying, or is there something else?

She shifted her feet. "He—uh—he didn't exactly enlighten us with details. All we got was a letter informing us to go rescue you."

Zenara pinched her lips into a thin line. If only she could truly know what Nalia was thinking.

All the while Ron remained a silent audience at their exchange—oddly so. Quite unlike him. Zenara twisted her head to see him studying her with an expression of deep concentration. His blue eyes danced with light and shadow, like storm clouds chasing the sun.

His brows furrowed. "Zen, why isn't your mind responding to mine?"

She bit the inside of her cheek as her heart jumped. The urge to look away was overruled by his commanding stare. Gods, she had forgotten how powerful his gaze was at times. 

"Zen," he repeated with frightening calm. "Why can't I connect with your mind?"

The pounding in her chest was so fierce she could have sworn she heard her ribs crack in its rhythm. Her thoughts rushed back to the King on that haunting day, to the words he told her. 

Ronalvo strode slowly towards her like a lion stalking its prey. Each step was a boom of thunder in her ears. She swallowed.

"My—" her voice broke, looking up at his face as mere centimeters separated their bodies. "The King..." Zenara blinked back the threatening tears as the words choked her and died on her lips.

Ronalvo tipped back her head with his finger till her gaze was consumed by his own. Zenara forced her lungs to breathe. His eyes were darker than before, a midnight blue with the tiniest sparks of lightning jumping to life. Chills rippled through her frame, and she held herself from shaking. She was not afraid of him. Never was, never would be. But his power rolled off him in waves as he waited for her answer with eternal patience.

"The King took away my telepathy," she finally croaked out. 

A pause.

"What?" Nalia demanded. "Is that even possible?"

Zenara shrugged at her with a quivering smile. "Apparently so." Her smile fell. "Since that day, I haven't even felt my magic anymore. Whatever he did, it was permanent. There's nothing I can do. It's gone."

Those words came back to life, taunting her. "If you won't surrender the truth," the King of Komros chirped, "then I shall take your power."

Zenara wanted to crawl away and hide in a place where she could mourn her lost powers in solitude. She felt as though half her soul had been snatched away, leaving the other to suffer a slow, painful death. Many things had changed since then; the world dulled noticeably, the sounds becoming less sharp while the tastes grew bland. Her body suffered the misery of living a life without her magic.

"But," Nalia prodded, "aren't there dangers of an Arcane living without her magic? If that's true—"

"Then I'm going to die soon."

Silence hovered over the hallway as the dreaded words took root in their minds. It was at that moment that they noticed her hands. They were thin and frail, as though old age had come early for her. Her skin was pale—no, gray—with green-blue veins bulging out of the dermis. The grayness just brushed her arms, which were lined with long scars along them. Victims of attempted suicide. They were a reminder of the darkness eating at her mind every day of her life.

The heavy foreboding made Zenara squeeze her eyes tight before the stupid tears came once more. This was—what?— the fifth, sixth, time she felt like crying. Why had her eyes chosen such moments to start leaking? She bit her cheeks hard, forcing them back. Traitorous bastards.

Yet the truth of those words stuck with her. It seemed that no matter what, the Spirits had decided to make sure she died in the near future. After spending nearly a whole year without her telepathy, her mind had slowly succumbed to the weight of the shadows of her power. It was one of the drawbacks of wielding magic. Everything has at a price. And the loss of her power had sped up the due date. Upon estimation, she only had a few weeks to live.

Once her mind was sufficiently shattered beyond saving, her body would cease functioning and eventually give up on her. Then nothing but death would claim her soul.

A hand grabbed her forward. She looked up to meet Ron's hard gaze. Her mouth opened but no words came. Never leaving her eyes, he placed his palms on her temples. Confusion was quickly warped to overwhelming shock.

Ron spread his power all through her mind, rolling over the membranes of her brain. Zenara gasped. Unlike the gentle caresses he gave when entering her mind, this was an unforgiving penetration that pierced her senses. Her body jerked under the scrutiny of his will. It drove deeper and deeper, making Zenara whimper and squirm in his hold.

Then it stopped.

Zenara was breathing deeply, trying to orient herself to the surrounding hallway. She focused on a painting of a flower blooming in moonlight and shadows, blinking as she did.

Nalia flew to her side, clasping her arm and giving it a small squeeze. Zenara smiled slightly at her reassurance.

"I can bring back your magic," Ron finally announced.

Zenara snapped her attention back to him. "What?" she whispered.

He held her shaking hand in his own. "I can bring it back."

She shook her head, taking back her hand. "No, Ron. It's gone. This isn't just a blocking of magic. The King took it all for himself. I felt it detach from my mind and soul. You can't bring it back."

He smiled. "Have you no faith in me, little one?"

She gritted her teeth. "The only 'little' thing here is your—"

"Now, now. No need to make claims you know to be false." His smile disappeared. "Zenara, your magic is gone, yes. But telepathy is rooted deep on your mind, unlike the other three magics. The branches and trunks may be ripped out but the roots are still there. I can replenish them, make them grow back to what they should be."

Zenara quirked her brow. "I didn't take you for a philosopher."

"Darling, I'm full of surprises."

Zenara allowed herself to absorb his words as hope fluttered in her chest. If what Ron claimed was true, if he could truly restore her magic...

She grabbed him and pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his body. "Thank you," she murmured.

He lay his chin on her head and embraced her. "Don't thank me yet. We haven't tried it yet." He gently pulled away to stare at her. "Let's go to my study room."

This time, both eyebrows shot up. "You have a study room?"

"More or less, yes."

Her head shook in a mess of black strands. "I've been gone for way too long, then."

His eyes glimmered. "Yes, you have."

As they made their way to their destination, Zenara took in the well-furnished mansion. Its walls were painted gold, the hue accentuated by the glow of lamps that hung at intervals. She felt the sturdy stairs and cool floorboards beneath her feet, which produced soft patters at their footsteps. To their left was a line of rooms, which they headed for. Everything testified to wealth and ample care.

"Where did you get the money to buy this house?" Zenara asked them as she studied the paintings lining the walls.

Nalia spoke over her shoulder. "Ron developed an interest in business. He's running quite a few, in fact."

"Such as?"

"Oh, the normal stuff," Ron answered. "I own a number of taverns and inns, and I run a company that specializes on regional and inter-territorial trade, anything from silks to weaponry."

Zenara's lips parted slightly. "You've been busy." 

Ron shrugged with a grin. "Had to make a hobby."

Zenara mulled over that information as they entered the study room. When her eyes swept over the room, she decided "study room" was not a proper name for it.

Bookshelves rose to just brush the ceiling. A desk with numerous books, documents, and pots of ink stood by a window. At the center of the spacious room was a carpet the color of the turning leaves of artrus. To her right were two plush sofas with a glass coffee table nearby.  A large rack boasted its expensive wines. Very busy, I see.

Ron walked into his room, and they followed. "Sit on the carpet," he instructed.

"What am I, a dog?" Zenara replied. Nonetheless, she placed herself at the center, legs folded neatly aside for she was still wearing that damp dress.

Nalia leaned by the desk with her arms crossed. The tight line of her mouth made Zenara cock her head slightly.

"Is this a safe procedure?" Nalia asked. "Will there be any side-effects or backlashes?"

"No, and most likely." Ron observed Zenara. "You look like that odd monk statue back at the Temple."

Zenara ignored the latter comment as her heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"This might kill you."

"Ron!" Nalia exclaimed.

Zenara's eyes widened. "What?"

Ron sighed and splayed himself next to her. "I'm not going to lie; this will be a dangerous process. The power to revoke another's magic—saying that the power itself must be strong is an understatement. Especially a sever cast by Ephiran magic. That power is beyond human comprehension. Just the smallest attempt at undoing an Ephiran spell or enchantment can fry your brain and kill you from the inside. What remains is a hollow shell without a consciousness. It's nigh impossible for an ordinary Arcane to do."

Zenara nearly thumped her chest to force her lungs into working. "Then what makes you so sure you can do it?" she squeaked.

Ron's lips curved into a smirk that made Zenara's heart beat faster. His eyes shone briefly with sparks. "I am not an ordinary Arcane, am I?"

The statement jolted Zenara to comprehension. Then she remembered the words she had once spoken to Nalia.

"An Arcane not confined within one magic division," she murmured softly, words only for Nalia's ears. "A power limitless of its constrictions, bordering on godlike abilities... imagine the energy pent up within him, Naliana. He could destroy an entire kingdom if he wished to!" She shook her head as she took in Ronalvo's concentrated face. "It is like a reflection of Ephiran magic. No human is supposed to have such power."

"No," Nalia agreed, eyes fixed on the intensity of Ron's face as he channeled his magic. "But who is capable of stopping him?"

If Ron had glimpsed that memory in Zenara's mind, he gave no hint of it. She bit her lip. Tipping her head back, she gazed at his brilliant eyes. "I trust you," was all she said.

In response, he gave her a small smile. Then he positioned himself behind her on his knees, so he was towering above her seated form. He didn't ask if she was ready. Good thing, though. She never could have been prepared for what came next.

It was just a taste of him, a lick of his self hovering outside the reaches of her mind. Then he pierced her senses with such speed and intensity her back arched and she gave a breathless gasp. The arrow of power never faltered, furrowing deeper and deeper into her mind, farther than she had thought possible. He plunged ahead into open territories, forbidden territories, forgotten territories, into lands she had never known existed inside her own head. In its wake was a wash of lightning that scorched everything in its path. Zenara dug her nails deep into her thighs, dug them deep to keep from crying out as a painful weight crushed her chest.

The arrow increased its velocity, thundering its way past her consciousness in a flight of deadly sparks until it sped into the silent abyss in her mind. It was like a vacuum, like space, only without the light of celestial bodies. Her eyes widened at the depths of that fierce, merciless penetration that left nothing but pain in its wake.

The power slowed, ever so slightly. It seemed to float in the blackness, just as a feather drifts in the wind. The bright blue arrow settled for a moment, assessing the darkness. Then a powerful thunder exploded from its electric depths, and a ripple shook her to the core. She groaned at the heavy ache in her skull.

In the shadow of the ripple, the abyss shivered. The sound of splintering glass erupted all around and slowly, the void fractured and broke into tiny splinters, which dissolved into nothingness. As the black space dissipated, a new veil revealed itself.

It was a meshwork of brilliant colors; indigo, blue, violet, pink, all interweaving together to create a glowing sphere of magic. All around it was an intense daunting aura that fizzed and spat with menace. Zenara was now panting, sweat trickling down her face.

The arrow poised before the colorful sphere, each power sensing, tasting, getting a feel of the other. 

Ron's grip on Zenara's skull tightened, his fingers threatening to crush her skull. She winced and bit her tongue hard.

An insurmountable flood of magic suddenly rushed into the arrow, threatening to drown Zenara's self. A surge of vertigo hit her hard. The arrow glowed brighter and fiercer as it became charged by the revitalizing magic. Tendrils of power leaked from it, sending bolts of lightning crackling around the arrow.

With a growl rumbling deep in Ron's throat, he sent the power-driven arrow into the sphere. It rushed at it with a loud whizz before plunging itself deep into the colorful veil. A ripple of energy erupted around the veil. Zenara finally released the scream stuck in her throat. 

Suddenly, the fierce blue arrow split itself into smaller splinters. The magic within itself awoke and reached out. Finally, waves of power roared from that focal point and it released itself into the veil. The wash of blue drove itself in and out of the magical spherical barrier like a needle sewing a cloth. It consumed the entirety of the rainbow-hued barrier till all that was left was a surface dominated by crackling lightning.

Ron's power forced its way into the core of the sphere, gathering itself into the tiniest of balls, smaller than a droplet of water. Then with a roar, he unleashed his wrath from the inside. The veil quivered and shook. The brightest of blues peeked out of the cracks opening on the veil. It flashed and sparked before exploding into a giant wave of power. The Ephiran barrier broke under its wrath and was consumed by the flames of his magic into oblivion.

Shrieks tore themselves from Zenara's throat until it grew hoarse. Blood choked into her mouth but she never stopped screaming at the backlash of Ronalvo's power. It ripped at her mind and thundered in her skull in neverending waves. Her nails drove themselves too deep into her thighs, piercing the arteries within. Yet all she could feel was the aftermath of a war against the deadliest of powers within herself. 

Black spots tainted her sight and her breath clogged in her lungs. Her heart couldn't keep up with her and finally stopped. The darkness clouded her vision and she was swept under the waves of unconsciousness.

*

Deep, deep inside her mind, in the wake of the raw, vengeful wrath of power, the purest of golden white light unfurled. A slight luminescent tendril stretched itself and curled around a fragment of Zenara's mind, and took root.

HEYOOO!! I'm back from school! Tbh, I had a rough time continuing from where I left off last time but I finally wrote this part. Boy was this challenging! It was an intense experience trying to capture what was in my head into words. I think I did a good job tho *pats back* 

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