The tower stood proudly on top of the mountain, it’s white marble spires reaching as if to grab the sun between it’s pale, slender fingers. The only path was a long, winding one, accessible by a single gate at the foot of the mountain. A noble gold dragon reared its head, emblazoned upon an azure flag that snapped in the wind. The colors and symbols of the Order of the Fae colored this flag and the uniforms of the guards at the gate.

Sevren tore his gaze from the tower, and showed his papers to the guards. Finding no error, the soldiers waved him through. Sevren took up his walking stick and set foot on the path of the FaeGate of Wasreth, his heart leaping with elation. Absently, the young man brushed a few golden strands of hair from his eyes as he made his way down the rocky path.

"Finally," he sighed to himself. It had taken years of patience and training, and now his hard work was going to be paid off. So looking forward to his initiation into the mage order, the three weeks it has taken him to arrive at the FaeGate had seemed like a mere few days.

When he arrived at the entrance of the tower, Sevren couldn’t help looking up in awe at the gigantic structure. Many faemasters with the power to shape stone had built the tower, under the direction of the heads of the Order. Its smooth, white walls hinted at neither seam nor brick, seeming to have been carved out of solid stone. The youth touched the stone, as if to feel for the residue of fae magic.

"You are Apprentice Sevren of Caldan, are you not?" asked a lilting voice. The young man turned his pale gaze to the speaker, a dark haired woman in a midnight blue gown. Upon her shoulder perched a dusky owl with pupil-less green eyes. A fae.

"I am, Faemaster," Sevren said, bowing. "I have come to undergo the Summoning."

"I am aware of that," she said, smiling softly. "What was the station you were assigned to, Sevren of Caldan?"

"That of Battle Mage, my lady," he said readily, glad the Faemasters at the school decided he would best be suited as a Battle Mage. The thought of wielding magic for warfare always excited him, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck doing ordinary things with something so wonderful as magic like the Common Mages. Nor could he imagine himself cooped up in a castle, wrapped in intrigue like the Advisors.

"I see," she murmured, looking him over. The owl on her shoulder seemed to examine him as well, although it was difficult to tell when looking into those depthless eyes. The woman turned and pointed down one corridor. "Take that one until the hall ends in stairs. On the fourth level is the room in which you will purify yourself before the Summoning. The Summoning Chamber is on the fifth floor. Good luck to you, Apprentice."

"Thank you, Faemaster," he replied softly, bowing to her. Dismissed from the woman’s presence, he headed down the hallway and climbed the stairs until the fourth floor. Pushing the door open, Sevren glanced around his surroundings with interest, shutting the door behind him.

The young man stood in a small, circular room, the walls smooth and featureless but for a single window cut into the side. In the center of the room was a small pool, steaming invitingly. Beside the water lay soap, a towel, and clean linen robes of white.

Grateful for this chance to wash away the dirt of his travels, the youth stripped off his clothing and set them aside. Murmuring the ritual chant, he slipped into the steaming water, relaxing. He leaned against the side of the pool, letting the warmth drive away the stress and strain from his tired muscles and sooth his racing mind. He grabbed the soap and begin to wash, wanting to look his best with the knowledge that, hopefully, he would become a faemaster in a couple of hours.

***

The young apprentice stepped into the room on the fifth floor. It was circular like the purifying chamber, but larger and housed no windows at all. Torches flared in sconces shaped into fanciful creatures like griffons and dragons. Sevren’s eyes were drawn to the walls. Every inch of the stone was a beautifully painted mural. Fae, in all shapes and colors, fought beside their masters against the Renegades. In the sky, their blood falling like rain upon the battlefield, fought a sinuous golden dragon against a creature as dark as night. The dragon was the fae of the greatest of Battle Mages, Arkeneven of Jaerl. He was the only faemaster to have achieved such a pinnacle in which his fae could transform into such a magnificent creature.

Sevren examined the painting, enraptured by the beauty of it. He wondered what sort of person Arkeneven was in life. A noble sort, certainly, he surmised. The fae’s form always mirrored its master’s soul, no matter what form it took. He looked again at the dragon and frowned in realization. Although the fae could be none other than Arkeneven’s, the faemaster himself didn’t appear to be anywhere in the picture.

A clearing of a throat drew him away from the mural. Flushing, Sevren turned and saw an old mage with a long snowy beard, his fae a small furry creature with gossamer wings. "I-I’m sorry," he stammered. "The mural is just...so beautiful."

"No need to apologize," the man said. "It affect many like that. I am Pelos, and your witness for your Summoning. Do you know the chant?"

"I do," Sevren said stiffly. Of course he knew the chant! He had been preparing for this since he was thirteen.

"Then stand in the center of the circle," Pelos instructed. He gestured to the middle of the room. Painted in gold was a circle of strange symbols. They all congregated into the center. The young man strode over and stood right over the center, trying to keep his composure. He was excited, but now that the event he dreamed of was finally in motion, Sevren could not help but to feel a sliver of fear.

"Chant the words," the old man recited. "To open FaeGate and beseech the fae to grant you a companion to aid in your Journey of Life. If they see fit, they will grant you one. Be sure to stay you’re ground and recite the words exactly, or the bonding will be flawed and you may go Mad."

Sevren took a deep, calming breath. He lifted his arms high, throwing his head back. With satisfaction, the apprenticed noted that his hands weren’t trembling. Closing his eyes to go over the words once more, he began to speak in a loud, clear voice. The ancient words rolled forth from his mouth. He was not afraid anymore. It was as if the words were engraved in his soul. "Anthalasa!" he shouted, his voice ringing through the room as he bade FaeGate to open.

Light erupted, blinding him even through his closed eyelids. It pierced through his very being; unraveling him and weaving him back together. Screams were torn from Sevren’s throat. No amount of training could have prepared him for this! He nearly fell to his knees, but managed to remain standing.

When the pain faded, the young man did fall. He panted hoarsely, sweat dripping from his brow. As he caught his breath, Sevren felt a weight settle down on his shoulder, and the old man gasped softly. He looked up and stared fixedly into the tiny reptilian face of his fae.

Depthless blue eyes stared back at him. In those mirror-like eyes, Sevren could see his astonished expression as he looked upon the little white dragon.

"Wh-what...?" he asked shakily.

The creature was completely white, except for its blue eyes and a sheen of light blue tinting its shimmering scales. It blinked slowly. "You summoned me, faemaster. Did you do it by mistake?" it asked. The voice rang in his head, and held a note of amusement.

"N-no..." he stuttered.

"Then do not pretend you don’t know what I am," it snorted. "And I am a ‘he’ not an ‘it’. You may call me Kinavel."

Sevren nodded slowly. "Nice to meet you...Kinavel. I’m Sevren."

"Well met. Now stand up and stop gaping like a fish out of water. You’re a faemaster now, so act like on, dolt." The fae punctuated this with a tightening of his claws on Sevren’s shoulder. The young man winced and stood up, turning to Pelos.

The old man was staring at the fae. "A dragon," he breathed. The elder faemaster turned to Sevren. "You are very fortunate. This is the first recorded dragon fae seen since Arkeneven’s Summoning. Well done, lad."

The fledgling faemaster blushed. "Thanks," he managed to stammer. "When’s the ceremony?"

"Tonight, when the sun begins to set. You and the other mages recently admitted to the order shall receive your robes and starshards. You will also get your assignments."

Sevren brightened at the mention of the assignment. As a Battle Mage, surely he’d finally get to fight. The Order of the Fae served under the King of Falanoth, and there were rumors that a few neighboring countries were eyeing the kingdom. He felt a thrum in his mind as Kinavel shared his excitement.

He met his fae’s gaze and smiled. He had the feeling that his big adventure was just about to start.

***

The Great Hall of the tower was decorated with tapestries showing the great deeds of the faemasters of old. Blue and gold ribbon decorated every available surface in the large room. Four long tables occupied the room, three on the lower floor, and one stretched out lengthwise on a dais. The higher table was for the elder mages, while the lower ones were meant to seat the newest additions to the Order.

First came the Three, the mages in charge of this FaeGate and took their seat in the middle three chairs on the dais. Pelos sat in the middle, decked in robes of red and stroking his long white beard. To his right sat an old woman in forest green, her hair from a face that must have been beautiful in youth, but was now wrinkled with age and care. To his left was seated a round man of his middle years, dressed in purple robes with gold rings and necklaces adorning the otherwise plain garb.

The other elder faemasters took their places at the table on the dais; each dressed in robe of red, green, or purple. They turned their gaze to the door as the white-robed fledgling mages began to file in and take their seats.

First came the Common Mages, seated at the table to the right. Their lot was to make life easier for society as a whole. Their fae usually helped them in their everyday tasks. A librarian might use his fae to translate any language; a messenger might use his to carry the swiftest message. They were the working force of the Order, the largest and most eclectic.

Next came the Advisors, who sat on the table to the left. From their air and demeanor, it was clear most of them came from noble blood. The Advisors were the spies, counselors, and entertainers of the royal lines. Their fae and magic were mean for more subtle uses, to be stealthy, or to create beautiful music to enchant any audience.

Last came the Battle Mages, the force of the Order. Their fae and their spells were for combat, and their purpose was to serve the King. Composed of the most powerful and most feared of magic, they were a force to be reckoned with. Sevren, amongst these mages was daunted at the silence and stillness that seemed to pervade the Great Hall.

Once everyone had been seated, Pelos got to his feat, his robes rustling softly. "You have been through many trial," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "And you have many more trials to come. However, today is a great day of triumph for you all." The old man continued, and Sevren found himself tuning him out. He wanted his assignment, so he could go out and actually do something—

Kinavel hissed. Sevren froze. The other fae shifted uncomfortably, their unease alerting their faemasters. Pelos fell silent; the last note of his voice dying as the torches snapped and flickered. Everyone strained their eyes and ears, wondering what was going on.

Then they heard it.

The steady beat of leathery wings pervaded the air. A window crashed as a creature flew through the window and landed upon the Common Mages’ table, the furniture breaking under its weight. The fledgling mages scattered in terror. The elders leapt to their feet and stared at horror upon the misshapen creature in their midst.

"Wehr," Kinavel hissed. "Corrupted fae." Sevren looked at the dragon in alarm. He had heard only legends of the Wehr, but thought they had all been destroyed in the Mage War. Kinavel answered his unspoken thoughts. "No. They cannot be fully destroyed, much like the fae."

It swiveled its four eyes upon the elder mages, then looked around at the rest. It growled through sharp, uneven teeth. Sevren looked at it with growing horror. The thing resembled nothing more than a grotesque mix between a pig, a rat, and a wolf with huge bat-like wings sprouting from its back. He tore his gaze from the monster to look at the rider upon its back, but could make out nothing other than the black armor it was cloaked in.

The monster moved, quicker than the young faemaster would have thought possible with its ponderous form. It pounced upon one of the elders. The silence was broken by a scream and wet sounds as the Wehr rend flesh. Sevren saw the snap of jaws tear a hunk of flesh away from the carcass and began to feel sick.

The Hall erupted into screams as the fledgling mages rushed toward the door. The elders stood their ground, Pelos raising a hand to cast a spell at the beast.

Chaos erupted. In a flurry of black wings and skittering legs, the doors of the Great Hall flew open and a swarm of Wehr piled in. Sevren backed up until he hit a tapestry-covered wall. He watched in growing horror as a misshapen claw tore the face from a Common Mage’s skull. Another faemaster was being torn apart by two vulture-like Wehr. The floors were soon slick with blood.

The young faemaster couldn’t stop trembling, nor could he take his eyes off the carnage. One Wehr turned toward him, the body of a fae still in its jaws, and Sevren knew it was over. He sank to his knees, no longer able to support himself.

"Stop this!" the dragon shrieked in his mind. "Oh...drat, let me take care of this. Stay back, boy." The fae glided down from Sevren’s shoulder, settling on the ground. He raised his regal head, fixing his blue eyes on the Wehr, appearing unafraid in the face of the creature’s greater size.

Sevren closed his eyes and tried not to think too hard about being sick. The smell of blood and death pervaded his nostrils. He heard a shriek, and saw a flash of light through his closed eyelids, and then he felt himself spiral into the darkness of unconsciousness.

***

"Both he and his fae are unharmed?"

"It looks that way, my lady. Amazing. Even the Three sustained wounds, yet this lad has nary a scratch on him."

"As to be expected from the Dragonmaster. You may go," the cool, imperious voice commanded.

Sevren opened his eyes slowly, then squinched them shut as they were assaulted by the sunlight shining through the window. He felt the cool hand on his forehead and opened his eyes once more, staring into the face of the dark-haired faemaster who had greeted him upon his entry in the Tower. The fledgling mage then noticed he was lying on a clean bed in an orderly white room.

"You’re awake," she said, smoothing back some of the youth’s hair. "More than can be said of many other faemasters in this tower."

"What happened...?" he asked.

"You fainted. How in the world do you expect to be a Battle Mage if you faint in the midst of a battle?" snorted a familiar voice in his head. Sevren heard the rustling of wings above him. He didn’t need to glance up to tell that the fae was perched on the headboard of the bed.

"I didn’t ask you," he muttered.

The woman smiled at that, glancing at the fae. Her face soon grew serious. "The Wehr attacked FaeGate. Almost none escaped unscathed." She touched a bandage wrapped around her arm. "About half of the faemasters are dead or Mad." Her voice grew sad at the mention of the Mad Mages. While fae simply went back to their own realm if its master dies, if the fae dies a mage usually goes mad from the separation.

"Why were they here?" he managed to ask, dreading the answer.

Her gaze pierced through him. "I don’t know, but I have an inkling. Do you know how long it’s been since a Dragonmaster has shown up in this world?"

"F-four hundred years," Sevren stammered out, unnerved by her demeanor.

"Four hundred and forty-two years," she corrected. "Four hundred and forty-two years since Dragonmaster Arkeneven flew across the skies and brought order to this world and drove away the Wehr." The young faemaster couldn’t have torn his gaze from hers if he wanted to. "Funny, don’t you think, that the Wehr show up again just as the Dragonmaster returns?"

"I-I don’t know what you’re implying," he said despairingly. "I didn’t bring them here...I swear." Kinavel growled in agreement.

The dark-haired faemaster smiled, her face relaxing. "I know. The fae never lie, Sevren of Caldan. If you were evil, your fae would be as twisted as your soul. No, you have one of the most regal fae I’ve ever seen." She smiled at Kinavel. "We had heard of Wehr reports before this incident, but thought they were mere rumors. Perhaps you have simply come as a savior."

"I’m no savior," he said miserably. "I couldn’t save anyone. I couldn’t do anything but faint."

The woman’s brow furrowed. "...Then why were you surrounded by dead Wehr?" At his astonished expression, she shook her head. "No matter, I came to give you your assignment."

Sevren hesitated, unsure of himself for the first time in his life. Previously he had thought that battle would be glorious and fun, but now he saw that it was just blood and death. The youth didn’t want this, not anymore.

"But what else will you do?" Kinavel asked, echoing his thoughts.

"Where must I go?"

"Falanoth."