The Oracle’s secret… was no secret at all. Everyone in the temple knew about it, if they weren’t blind to the truth. Ursa knocked on the Oracle’s door, and one of the priests opened it.“He’s expecting you,” the priest said, sliding out as she entered. The old man sat at his desk by the window, playing with the extravagant gold rings on his fingers. “Your Holiness, I must speak with you about an urgent matter.”“I know you do. I was waiting for you to return alone.”“What? Why would you need me alone?” she asked. The Oracle turned his chair to face Ursa, his kind eyes usually mistaken for complacency were unusually sharp. 

By the time Ursa had dried off and put her clothes back on, the Temple was barren. Not a soul could be found in the halls, not even the guard outside the Pool of Burvju was there. “No,” Ursa murmured to herself. “They couldn’t have started, I wasn’t in there for that long--” Instinctively, Ursa looked out the window and up at the sky. The sky was an exquisite explosion of purples, reds and oranges. She did not need to be a mage to suspect what day it was. The sky was already setting-- how long had she been in there? How long had the High Goddess Mai kept her in there? Why did the guard not retrieve her? Ursa did not knock as she arrived at the Oracle’s study. She simply burst through the door, only to be met with complete emptiness. Not even the Oracle was here. Where was he? If Ursa ran to the Med Wing, wou

The God shrunk himself down to a more ‘mortal’ size, but he still towered over Ivan by two or three feet. Ivan was already an undeniably large man, but he looked miniscule compared to the green figure that approached him slowly. “You still have time to turn back, mortal. I will look past the insults if you begged to keep your life,” the God said with a smirk. “Perhaps you should watch your words, since you will be on your knees soon enough.”  The God growled loudly and launched himself through the air, his claws extended like knives. Ivan held up his sword in a defensive position and held his ground when the God landed, swiping at Ivan like a cat. Ivan summoned another sword that was smaller and used it to swipe at the God’s stomach. The metal crumbled

The sun shone through the window of the great Westlands conqueror’s office, illuminating his curly dark hair and picturesque features. A tired and unfulfilled look troubled his eyes as he stared at the mountain of paperwork left on the side of his desk, leftover from his recent pilgrimage. Orlov sat nearby, going through his own fair share of paperwork-- though not nearly enough, according to Ivan-- smirking at his old friend’s obvious distaste for the tedious affair. It was the same old thing every time: a governor asking for more funds; a farmer complaining about the unfair contract he had signed with the State; an arrogant official trying to curry favor; sometimes, sprinkled in would be marriage proposals. Those have gone down considerably, but many still try to put a concubine in power. Ivan always threw those letters out first; they disgusted him. Too big of a family would be impossi

Ursa’s father sat on the sofa in the front of the room as if it were his throne; his arms gripped the sides lazily and his legs were crossed in a nonchalant manner-- it was nothing like he was before-- when the Vasil’s impending invasion grew closer, and the idea of losing, of failing, became more and more of a reality.No. This was the appearance of a king who had all his problems solved. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?” Ursa remembered where she was and hastily entered the room. The door shut behind her silently, Volkov expertly controlling the volume. She narrowed her eyes at the sight of the man. Ever since her mother’s death, Volkov was the only person who could truly get through to King Romanov and make him see sense. The little influence Ursa could cling to vanished at the sight of this man.