The Convergence: Second Novel in the Callum Walker Series

By J. M. Shaw

The Winter War is over, but another battle has begun—the tug-of-war between the darkness and the purveyor of light. Theia, The Goddess of Light, steward of goodness and life, must square off against her counterpart, Omus, The Eternal Darkness, fomenter of corruption and death.

Following the ravages of warfare, Esme, the elven queen, is desperate to maintain her hold on her kingdom. Desiring incontestable power to maintain her reign, she sells her soul to The Eternal Darkness, Omus. This spirit of darkness tricks Esme into becoming his vessel, dominating and suppressing her in his own pursuit of ultimate, unchallenged authority over The Goddess of Light, the warlock, and the world at large.

After narrowly escaping death, Callum Walker has reluctantly accepted his destiny as a warlock, but he struggles to understand and manage his arcane power. Attempting to regain some normalcy in his chaotic life, Callum leaves the magical realm, crossing the hidden veil and returning to the land of humans. Soon after, he is begrudgingly dragged into another conflict. Guided by Theia, The Goddess of Light, Callum commits to using his magic to ensure that the light will prevail over the darkness.

Confronted by orcs, harpies, and other obstacles, Callum forges on, seeking to discern who his true enemies are, who will betray him, and who will aid him in saving the world from damnation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Chiu
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781777883935

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Commander Joric Agis leads the way up the narrow switchback trail that rises steadily for nearly a mile up a rocky hillside and seldom sees travelers. The athletic elf—a true soldier at heart—tackles the arduous ascent with ease. The sweltering summer heat dampens his black hair, and sweat drips down his lean body. The slender female elf who trails behind, often pausing to catch her breath, struggles with the strenuous trek.

Agis pauses along the craggy path when he notices his ward has halted again. We are nearly to the plateau, Your Majesty, Agis says with encouragement.

Queen Esme stops along the pathway, bracing her hands on her knees, and wearily glances at her commander. Her usually fair and youthful face is glossy, and sweat glues her blond ringlets to her willowy neck.

Agis frowns at his queen’s stubborn insistence on donning a gown of cambric linen and a thick petticoat beneath. He tried to dissuade her, knowing her chosen attire would be unwise given the demands of their journey. Esme, however, refused to heed his warning and now stews beneath her pretty layers of clothing.

I do not need your sympathy, Esme says, spearing him with her blazing blue eyes. She straightens up and juts out her fine-boned chin. Just lead onward, Commander.

As you wish, My Queen, Agis says, turning from her and secretly rolling his eyes as he continues to hike.

Their trip has taken them through the flat, wooded terrain of the Thesdale Forest. A well-worn dirt road cuts through the dense timberland, expediting the first leg of their pilgrimage. This final ascending path, however, has only a narrow trail and takes nearly twice as long with Esme’s countless breaks.

The pair of travelers reach the end of their toilsome climb, mounting the top of the foothill they reach a level summit. From his vantage point, Agis spies the imposing glacial mountain peaks to the west and lush green forests behind them. Both terrains dominate his elevated view.

Pausing to take in the panoramic scene, Agis hears his breathless queen staggering up after him. She staunchly pulls herself toward the pinnacle on hands and feet, trying not to dirty her royal gown. Agis reaches down to help her, but Esme swats his hand away.

I can do this myself, she grumbles.

Very well, Agis says with a huff, unable to conceal his annoyance. He pulls his hand back and retreats to the trailhead. Thankfully, his queen is too tired to notice his irritation.

Esme half crawls to a nearby boulder and plops down. Her face and tapered ears are flushed bright red.

Agis’s military life and training regimen have prepared him for such an excursion, but Esme’s sedate duties as monarch have left her ill-equipped for anything more taxing than navigating Havishire’s palace. Despite her lack of fitness, she has decided that this excursion is vital to answering her burning question.

While the queen recovers her breath, Agis takes the opportunity to survey their completed route. He smiles with pride at the sight of the gleaming stone spires of Havishire Castle in the distance. The ancestorial seat of the elven monarchy stands like a monument, rising in sharp contrast to the abundant timberland.

Agis sweeps his sights across the flat hilltop. Sparce, scrawny trees grow around a clearing, framing a lonely log cottage and garden at its center. He admires the bright yard with its flourishing planter boxes, overgrown with vegetation and meandering vines.

Ancient customs dictate that elven oracles speak only with royal leaders—who they divinely appoint. Each successive prophetess receives supplies from the elven capital. A strict sentence of imprisonment is awarded to any rebel who defies this written law.

There are exceptions to this rule of course. The queen can override the decree in special situations. Despite Esme’s reassurance that his personal insight is invaluable, Agis is nervous about violating an ordinance that he has personally enforced.

Are you sure she will accept my presence? Agis asks. An anxious frown furrows his strong brow. Small lines crease his smooth chin as he pinches his mouth into a hard line.

Orelia must allow this audience if I command her, Esme says haughtily. I must have an answer, and only she will know what your vision means.

Her strength regained, Esme rises and smooths her wrinkled skirt before marching along a narrow, cobbled walkway toward the quaint cabin. Agis’s posture is uncomfortably rigid as he follows his queen, keeping a respectful distance between them.

Esme confidently strides across the yard, but her pace slows and demeanor changes as she reaches the front porch and ascends the steps. She hesitates at the door before knocking.

Agis cocks his head, intrigued by her shrinking poise. Reaching the porch, he hears a quiet voice within the cottage bidding them entry. Esme opens the door and takes a tentative step inside the dimly lit interior. The commander follows.

Agis closes the door behind them, lingering near the threshold while Esme creeps to the heart of the gloomy room and stops. She fidgets with the pendant of her necklace and squints into the murky space, allowing her eyes to adapt to the low lighting. Scant sunlight and a small candle across the room are the only sources of light in the shadowy space.

When the oracle suddenly speaks, her hoarse voice startles them both.

I was wondering when you would pay me a visit, Orelia says, without attending to the social formalities of addressing her queen.

Esme clears her throat. I have come to consult your wisdom. Her voice trembles.

Agis gawks with fascination at the unusual exchange between these two prominent authorities. The role of veneration seems reversed, with the queen offering her reverence and Orelia taking on the role of superior.

I see you have brought a guest. You know that is not permitted, Oral says, hefting one brow.

Agis’s eyes have adjusted enough for him to see the layout of the cozy, single-room dwelling. He notes the many cluttered shelves of dusty scrolls and books. To his right, a neatly made bed is positioned in a corner below a small, grimy window. Looking left, he spies a wood-burning stove next to a bank of cabinets. Near the kitchenette sits a heavy, square table with wooden chairs tucked in along its sides. The pleasing aroma of herbs and vegetables waft from a boiling pot of soup on the cooker.

Agis’s stomach growls.

Directly across the room sits the oracle, seesawing in her creaky rocking chair beside a cold fireplace. A lone candle sits on step of the stone hearth. The mantle is topped with various glass jars caked in dust.

The stately, elder elf holds her head high and peers down the length of her sylph-like nose. Her grey hair is pulled into a neat bun, exposing her long, pointed ears. The candle flame highlights the oracle’s deeply wrinkled face. Her lines are worn like a badge of ageless wisdom, yet Orelia exudes a powerful presence confirming the many years of life that remain in her rheumatic body.

This is Joric Agis. He is one of my commanders serving the kingdom’s southern detachment. Esme motions with her arm toward her accompanying soldier. He possesses valuable information that he alone bears witness to.

Agis swallows hard, and his glance flits between his queen and the oracle. He tenses with uneasiness at being drawn to the forefront of Orelia’s consideration.

It must be important if you are willing to violate ancient traditions, Orelia says bluntly, firing Esme a hard glare. I hope this is not the beginning of another fanatical escapade.

I assure you, this is crucial.

Fine. Then I will allow this, but only because I am bored, and this mystery intrigues me.

Esme exhales a long sigh and straightens her posture.

I believe Commander Agis saw something of great importance within the warlock’s memories. If I am correct, it is of utmost consequence, the queen says, slathering her tone in false bravado. I tried to use the same power of recollection to read the human’s memories myself, but his defiance prevented me from receiving a complete picture. Commander Agis has revealed his vision to me. It contains evidence of something I must bring to your attention. Therefore, I am requesting, as queen, for him to converse with you on this matter.

Very well, Orelia scoffs. She squints her sunken eyes at Agis. Commander Agis, would you come closer?

Esme glances at him over her shoulder and nods. Though apprehensive, the commander leaves his position by the door and crosses the room toward the oracle who waits in her squeaky chair.

Agis halts in front of the elven oracle and lowers himself to one knee, respectfully bowing. Orelia leans forward without a word and cups her hands to either side of his head. Closing her eyes, she whispers an incantation to summon her divination magic.

Agis feels warmth flowing from the oracle’s palms into his temples, rapidly growing into an unpleasant heat that blossoms from her touch. Within seconds, he can see the human’s memories, as well as his own, flash through his mind in a series of images.

The oracle skillfully navigates his thoughts in less than a minute. Agis is left with only a minor headache rather than the searing pain he inflicted upon the warlock when performing this same spell.

Orelia removes her hands and beams him a kind smile. I am done now, Joric. You may return to your place by the door.

Agis replies with another bob of his head before rising and retracing his path to the entrance.

Orelia sits back, tenting her fingers beneath her chin, and intently stares at Esme.

It appears you have been rather fixated on this matter. I can see that you have hounded your young commander for several months to reveal every detail about the warlock’s past. I assume your concerns center around the great power the warlock used to save his dying friend on the dwarven train?

Yes, says Esme. Her body tenses. From what Agis described, I suspect it is the power of the light. But how can it be possible? That preeminent energy has been hidden for more than a thousand years.

It is more than just a latent power that potentially lies within this human. What you do not understand, Child, is this a living entity within its chosen host.

So, do you believe it to be true?

"It seems possible, according to what I saw in your commander’s mind, but the light bearer has never been a human before. This is…curious."

We cannot leave this up to chance. An ancient power such as this must be controlled. Esme excitedly bounces from foot to foot as she speaks. Is there any way for you to be certain?

One event, driven by desperation, cannot confirm that the light is within him, although the warlock’s utilization of this magic speaks to its presence. I need him brought here, so I can read his living essence for myself. Only then can I confirm whether the entity shares his mind.

"If it is verified, what does that mean for the kingdom, or the rest of the realm?"

The power of the light is as ancient as time itself. Its return could indicate something terrible may be happening that threatens more than just our realm. The effects could extend beyond the veil into the world of humans, impacting all existence on this earth. We must be cautious and alert to any signs of evil, since the light and darkness are eternally linked.

I have been searching for the human for six months now. Esme breathes a despondent sigh, shaking her head. There has been no sign of him since the end of the Winter War, and all sources of information are exhausted. Can you please give me direction to find him?

Yes, but only because you asked so nicely, Orelia says. A smirk lifts one corner of her mouth.

Agis curiously absorbs every unspoken detail in this bizarre hierarchy.

The oracle closes her eyes and tilts her head back against her chair. She murmurs a barely audible incantation. For several minutes, Orelia’s face and hands twitch while she remains in her trance-like state.

Esme peers at Agis with a puzzled expression. The commander returns an equally baffled stare and shrugs. Neither of them knows what to do so, for several moments, they just watch the frail elf with prudent interest.

Orelia returns from her transfixed state with a snap.

The man you seek is still alive, the oracle proclaims. Her abruptness startles both queen and commander, but Orelia continues speaking unperturbed. The warlock has crossed the veil and is living amongst his own kind. You will find him in the small human town of Rutherford.

He is in the human world? Esme’s face scrunches into an indignant scowl and her nostrils flare. I have wasted the past two seasons searching for him within the boundaries of the magical realm.

You should have come to me sooner, Child.

Esme slowly inhales to cap her agitation. You are right, as always.

Find the human and bring him to me so I can determine whether he possesses the divine light. Orelia pushes herself from her chair with a grunt and hobbles toward the kitchen. Now, if you will excuse me, it is time for my lunch.

Thank you for your advice, Oracle. Esme dips into a curtsy then wheels around and marches toward Agis.

The commander opens the door and moves aside to allow his queen to exit ahead of him. Esme is soberly quiet as she leads the way out and across the sunlit yard. She halts at the head of the trail.

I am sending you on a mission, Commander Agis. I need you to travel to Rutherford and find Callum Walker, Esme says, setting her wolfish eyes upon him.

An uneasiness stirs in the pit of his stomach as Agis clears his throat and asks, Do you want me to assemble a contingent of soldiers?

No, he might interpret that as a threat. I prefer you approach him alone.

I doubt he will trust me, Agis says, clenching his jaw under her calculating gaze. You were not the only one who betrayed him, remember?

You were following my orders. Remind him that it was my actions directing you.

A flicker of a grimace crosses her face. Agis wonders if Esme feels remorseful for her actions that drove the warlock from Havishire on the eve of battle. Her emotional visage passes as quickly as it appeared.

Walker will want to know why you want to see him. What should I tell him? Agis asks cautiously. He is uneasy about this mission, as well as his queen’s motives, but cannot refuse her direct order.

Esme thinks for a moment, then proudly lifts her chin and answers. Tell him I wish to apologize for my actions. Once he agrees, send word to me, and I will meet you both on this hilltop. From here, we will approach the oracle together.

I will do as you ask, Agis says with a stiff bow.

His throat tightens at the guilt he feels for playing his part in the warlock’s betrayal. As far as he is concerned, Agis is just as blameworthy as his queen. Though it is doubtful Callum will accept this explanation, the commander must try. Regardless of what he says, Agis is certain Callum will not return willingly to the magical realm.

Oh, and one more thing. Esme pins Agis with a threatening glower. "It would be most disappointing if Walker learns the true reason for our concern. The power of light is as dangerous as its counterpart. For this reason, I am giving you two days to complete this task. Do not fail me."

Agis swallows a knot in his throat and curtly nods. You have my word and my loyalty.

Loyalty, or penalty of death. Esme’s mouth forms a sinister grin.

She abruptly turns from him and pilots a steady path down the hill.

Agis is left with troubling thoughts, not the least of which is his queen’s growing obsession with the unsuspecting warlock.

CHAPTER TWO

After jogging for nearly an hour, Callum reaches the top of Miller Rise. The crest of the hill marks the highest point along the outskirts of Rutherford and the halfway point of his grueling exercise.

Callum pauses along the asphalt path to catch his breath and second wind. His T-shirt and gym shorts are damp and cling to his trim frame as rivulets of sweat trickle down the sides of his shaven face.

Panting, Callum walks over to a concrete and timber bench at the edge of the path—a welcome respite for trailgoers. He drops onto the seat and leans forward to prop his elbows on his thighs, taking in the view of a sprawling forestscape that hems in the quiet town.

Seeking a tranquil atmosphere and relative isolation, Callum thought Rutherford seemed like the perfect place to settle. Unfortunately, its natural appeal attracts transient vacationers during the summer. Callum knows that since it is the last week of May, he will need to depart soon if he wants to avoid the tourists. He is not overly fond of crowds.

For the time being, Callum enjoys this serene moment. The sun climbs over the horizon and vibrant streaks of color and light explode across the sky. Callum’s breathing slows, and he smiles at the picturesque scene. This is not the first time he has greeted a new dawn at this summit. He regularly appreciates the solitude and beauty of this vantage point.

The quiet gives him time to ponder the recent events of his life and mull over his haunting memories. Prior to his eight weeks in Rutherford, Callum spent four enlightening months across the veil. He devoted his time to studying at the druid academy of High Garth, an ancient school of healing and nature within the elven kingdom.

While Callum has no intention of becoming a druid, the respite gave him an opportunity to recover and educate himself on the history, geography, and societal intricacies of the magical realm. He immersed himself in historical tomes, trying to forget the horrors of the Winter War, which nearly claimed his life. The unwelcome attention from the residents of High Garth reminded him daily that he was an outsider, giving him another reason to leave the magical realm and live amongst his own people—humans.

Callum’s rumination is cut short when his cellphone chirps to life. Startled, he scrambles to retrieve the phone from his hip pocket. Since only one person has his number, he does not bother to identify the caller before answering.

Hello, Jobella, Callum says, smiling at the thought of how bizarre it is to receive a phone call from an elven druid.

Did I not tell you how much I hate this blasted device you gave me? Jobella grumbles. I have received three calls this week from someone trying to offer me a vacation package. I do not even know what that is!

Callum stifles a chuckle as Jobella vents her frustrations.

Yeah, that’s something you’ll have to get used to. Callum reclines, draping his free arm over the back of the bench.

It would have been simpler for you to remain in High Garth, rather than conjuring this confounded piece of human technology.

When Callum conjured cellphones for both he and Jobella, he had hoped that their direct line of communication would quell some of her anxiety and reduce her objection to his leaving. He was wrong.

You know why I left, Callum says, heaving a frustrated sigh.

His heart aches at the painful recollection of two dear friends being ripped from his life only six months ago—one falling in death and the other unfairly punished for trying to help him. Callum silently bears the guilt of their fates. Though fond of Jobella’s friendship, he is fearful of becoming too emotionally attached to anyone. He is not strong enough to withstand the anguish of losing another friend.

Yes, of course I do, Jobella says. You wanted to reconnect with your humanity. I understand your need for belonging, but you were offered an unconditional home in High Garth. You are still welcome here. Why would you refuse that?

I have my reasons. Callum pushes himself to his feet and continues his steady hike while he talks. Why did you call me, Jobella?

There is something I must ask of you, she says, a grave undertone in her voice. I was directed to contact you by Master Folrid. He was hoping you might consider investigating a small elven village. The residents have not been heard from in more than a week. The village is across the veil, near the hamlet of Deadwood. Master Folrid is wondering—

Look, Jobella, it’s not that I don’t like hearing from you, but I don’t work for the druids.

I know, but it is not far from Rutherford, and our resources are stretched thin at the moment. We were hoping you might agree to take this small trip. It should not take you long.

The druids have never asked anything of him before. Callum is curious about this random request and suspects an ulterior motive.

Is Master Folrid making this request, or are you asking me a favor?

I know you have no obligations to help us. Anxiety strains Jobella’s voice. "But we would not be asking if it was not important. The druids are overwhelmed aiding the victims of a great plague that has been steadily spreading across the land. This blight has been growing since the end of the Winter War. There is simply no one available to send on this errand. Please, Callum, will you accept this request?"

Callum clenches his jaw at his friend’s obvious anxiety. Despite his intention to keep her at a distance, he feels an undeniable devotion toward Jobella. Her distress is painful to hear.

Fine. I’ll check it out, but this doesn’t mean I’m at your beck and call whenever you need something. Make sure Master Folrid knows this.

Oh, thank you, Callum. I will send you the location and will welcome your findings.

He waits until he receives her text, then promptly ends the call. Callum pockets his phone, shaking his head in frustration. If only he could resist his compelling urge to aid those in need. His wonders if his sympathetic heart is a dangerous character flaw.

Callum commences his jog, hoping the exercise will burn off his growing aggravation.

Rutherford is stirring by the time Callum reaches its boundaries. He slows his pace and stays to the sidewalks. Though he keeps his head down, he cannot avoid the few polite inhabitants who wave and wish him a good morning. Callum returns an awkward greeting and hurries past a handful of quaint shops opening their doors for the morning, and he moves onto the side streets.

Callum’s magic allows him to create various material items and currency. This convenient talent removes the need for him to work but does not go unnoticed in such a small town. Callum’s reclusive lifestyle backfires, however, drawing an abundance of undesirable scrutiny. He does his best to avoid the curious stares and ignore the gossip, but he does not remain completely unnoticed.

He carries on for a few more streets until he reaches a familiar neighborhood. Halfway down the block, Callum rounds the end of a hedgerow fence in front a stucco townhouse. His feet crunch on the gritty driveway as he marches along the edge of a manicured lawn. Callum opens a plank gate at the rear corner of the house, the binding wood screeching in complaint as he shoves it open with his shoulder. The noise sets off a flurry of incessant barks from the landlord’s Pomeranian on the upper floor.

Callum cringes. Glancing up, he spies the homeowner peeking at him between lacy curtains from her main floor window. The middle-aged woman suspiciously eyes him but slips away when Callum flashes her a friendly grin. He shakes his head and scoffs, then continues around the back of the house.

A set of stone steps descend along the back wall, sinking beneath the shade of a shallow deck. His apartment door waits at the bottom.

Callum hurries inside his bachelor suite and quickly shuts and locks the door behind him. Only then does he release a calming breath. He knows a deadbolt will not protect him from his powerful enemies, but it gives him some illusion of security.

He appreciates the druid’s efforts to conceal him from the elven queen during his months at High Garth. However, six months later, he is still looking over his shoulder, and there is little he can do stop the nightmares.

Callum muscles through his emotional turmoil and flips on the light. The bare bulb sheds more illumination than the filtered sunlight entering through a single window above his twin bed. The dusty pane opens into the cramped crawl space beneath the oversized deck, defying any legal safety codes.

Callum approaches an ugly green couch along the adjacent wall to his right. He pauses at the antique trunk serving as a coffee table and empties the contents of his pockets beside a sleeping laptop. Crossing to the left end of the room, Callum strips off his clammy clothes at his bedside. Next to the twin bed is a three-drawer dresser, which doubles as a night table. The top of this sideboard is cluttered with borrowed druid manuals, and stacks of tomes occupy two small piles on the floor near the head of his bed. Callum tosses his clothes into a laundry basket beside the bureau and hurries to the small three-piece bathroom for a shower.

Washing quickly, Callum combs his short, messy brown hair with his fingers and dresses in tan cargo shorts and a T-shirt. Unsure how long he’ll be gone, he grabs a bite from a mini fridge next to a reclaimed armchair. He retrieves his keys and wallet from the coffee table and departs the humble apartment.

Retracing his path down the driveway, Callum searches his phone for the best route to the hamlet of Deadwood. He stares at the screen as he crosses the quiet road, making his way toward a parked sedan. He plots the forty-minute drive and climbs inside the careworn car. Wedging the phone on his dash, Callum starts his car and cranks the air conditioning.

While his powers of conjuration have granted him financial freedom and ample free time, the past two months have droned on in a mundane blur. Callum has spent several humdrum weeks expanding his magical prowess and improving his physical strength. Though irked by Jobella’s request, Callum is grateful to have this productive task. He smiles as he pulls away, deciding to enjoy the pleasant distraction.

Callum arrives at the forest village of Deadwood before midday. However, he finds nothing more than a post office, community hall, and a family-owned gas station. The place is barely a blip on the map and hardly deserving of a name.

He parks his car at the service station, nodding to the lone cashier as he enters. The young man behind the counter briefly looks up from his cellphone.

Callum wastes little time as he slips down a narrow aisle and collects a package of beef jerky and two bottles of water before approaching the twenty-something-year-old cashier.

There isn’t much out here, Callum says, setting his items on the counter and digging out his wallet. He notes the young man’s name tag—Fred.

Fred sets down his phone and scans Callum’s purchases. Some people like that. There’s good hunting a few miles from here and some great hiking trails, if you’re the adventuresome type.

I’m a little lost, Callum admits. Peering out the plate glass wall, he surveys the gravel parking lot and lonely gas pumps. His faithful red car and a mud-caked jeep are the only vehicles at the isolated station.

If you head that direction, Fred points out the shop window and down the long stretch of road Callum has just pulled off, and turn left at Range Road twelve about twenty miles west, you’ll find an overgrown road leading to an old campground. It used to be popular before the government shut it down. It’s not that hard to find. The signs are still there. You just need to follow them.

Why did they shut it down?

The government ran out of money to maintain it in the sixties, or something like that. Fred shrugs and finishes ringing in Callum’s purchases. That’ll be twelve-fifty.

So, I take it there aren’t many visitors there now? Callum asks, fishing the cash out of his wallet and handing it to the waiting cashier.

Well, there’s always a few midnight parties, or kids caught messing around in their car, if you know what I mean. Fred winks as he hands Callum his change and bag of items. Nothing too crazy though. Some people claim the woods are haunted. They talk about seeing ghosts at night, but I think it’s just a ploy to create a tourist attraction. As you can see, it hasn’t really worked.

The cashier offers a telling smirk. His bloodshot eyes and the odor of cannabis suggest Fred may have recently engaged in a private backwoods party himself.

You said people were seeing ghosts? Callum asks, wondering if the village elves have anything to do with the rumors.

That’s what I heard. Fact is, it’s a pretty big area and there are lots of places to hide, so the cops think it is probably either wildlife or drunk kids seeing shadows. If you’re brave enough, you should check it out yourself. Lots of places to get lost or find yourself alone with a girl. Chicks dig the hero type.

Thanks for the advice, Callum says awkwardly. He hurries out of the shop, thankful to escape the uncomfortable direction of the conversation.

Following Fred’s directions, it is not long before Callum finds the rutted, dirt road. The track is heavily overgrown, and rampant bushes rake the sides of his car. He creeps along as far as he can before parking his car along the barely passible road. Emerging from his car, he inhales a lungful of refreshing air. The cool shade prickles the hairs on his bare arms and legs, but a strenuous hike quickly leaves him overheated and clammy.

Callum’s cellphone relies on supernatural energy and undrainable batteries. The device functions without the need for towers and reliably directs him through the backwoods. He glances at the digital map as he tramps toward Jobella’s coordinates.

As he nears the veil, Callum’s psychic sensitivities begin to tingle at a malevolent essence pervading the area. It sends an icy shiver down his spine, and Callum darts his gaze from tree to tree. He cannot see anything menacing, but his empathic instinct remains alert, and the warlock quickens his pace.

The abundant brambles slow his progress, but he eventually reaches the invisible, magical barrier. Its preternatural energy sends goosebumps across his skin.

Only those with an innate magical essence can perceive the veil and step across. Any non-magical being is confounded by its illusionary spell. Those who stumble into the barrier become disoriented and turned around, thinking themselves to be walking in circles. The veil’s enchantment has maintained the magical realm’s secrecy for untold years.

Callum’s magic allows him to pass through unhindered. He shudders at the creeping sensation akin to walking through a wall of cobwebs. Emerging on the other side, Callum halts and blanches at what he sees. A cold sweat washes over him, and his heart races at the horrendous sight before him.

The elven village lies just twenty feet from the veil, visible through the gaps between mature oaks. Rather than a thriving settlement of woodland elves, the scene before Callum portrays a scorched borough blackened and charred beyond salvage. Every structure within the village is reduced to cinders, and the soil is marred by ash.

Callum skims his gaze over the devastated hamlet and wrinkles his nose at the acrid smell of soot. An eerie silence permeates the area, and a foreboding, metaphysical energy clings to the land.

There is something unnatural and malicious about the cause of this