An Archer's Awakening

Irina surveyed the battle from her mountainside perch.
Banners of cobalt faced emerald and gold as tens of thousands clashed on the plains below. The clamor of swords and pikes sang with a melody of anger and pain beyond any heard in generations. The height of the lone peak spared Irina from the stench of death, but nothing could deafen the cries in the Reaper’s wake.
The flesh of her arms pimpled as power coursed through her veins. Magical fire raged from her staff, scorching men and earth alike, leaving blood and madness where enemies stood only moments before.
She poured the last of her energy into the enemy line. Her magical endurance far outpaced anyone alive but still had its limits. She would need to eat, rest, and recover before casting again.
Time to watch the men battle it out.
Irina had spent the last year hunting every Mage she could find and repaying them for her stolen youth. Of the original ten, she’d already killed six. The remaining four scurried and hid like rats across the border in Melucia. She’d never dreamed of ruling, power, or war—not before they’d ripped her future from her grip.
Now it was her turn. The thought had consumed her. She didn’t care how many innocents would die in the wake of her wrath. Innocence had died when her mother fell. She would destroy every last Mage and take everything they held dear.
As the enemy lines buckled, something in the sky shimmered. It was distant but growing closer. She shielded her eyes. A brilliant . . . something . . . flew toward her.
Irina stepped to the edge of the cliff and raised her spyglass. Far to the east, a massive cerulean flame streaked across the sky, leaving a trail of light in its wake that twinkled, then faded. Her breath caught as the form sharpened in her lens. Its outstretched wings dripped iridescent flames. She stumbled back as the beast lifted its head and uttered an otherworldly cry that stilled the battle below. Men on both sides cowered and stared in disbelief. Cries rang up all around her.
“That’s impossible!”
“It cannot be!”
Irina turned toward the robed men nearby. “Get me the Orb! Now!”
They jolted, then scattered in all directions. A moment later, one man approached, clad in black and cradling a velvet bag. He pulled his hood back, revealing oily, slicked-back hair and onyx eyes. He kneeled and bowed his head, holding the sack aloft.
“Your Majesty.”
She snatched it out of his hands and removed a perfect scarlet sphere. Elegant lines of ancient runes lay etched within, like tiny spiders caught in an amber web. They pulsed as though a heart thrummed inside.
“Listen to me,” she said, snapping the man’s gaze to hers. “The spell I’m about to cast will draw on my essence and the magic of the Orb. It will send you far from here and guide your path.”
“It what?” The man’s eyes widened as they darted from woman to Orb. “But . . . Your Majesty—”
“There’s no time,” she snapped, looking up at the fast-approaching Phoenix, a bright haze of blue fire hurtling toward her, then turning back to the man. “If it takes a thousand years, bring me back, Danai.”
“Irina—” His hand reached toward her cheek, then snapped back. “Your Majesty, could you not face—”
“If you ever loved me, Danai, bring me back.” She reached down, and he pressed his cheek into her palm.
“Irina—”
The flaming bird bellowed, and the screams of men and beast rose above the maelstrom below.
Irina snatched her hand back and stiffened her spine. “The Phoenix has risen. Even fully recovered, my power might not stand against hers. And I am tired, Danai.” Her voice hardened. “Now, open yourself. My strength is spent, and yours will have to do.”
Irina closed her eyes and chanted in the language of Mages. With every phrase, the pulsing of the Orb grew until its brilliance forced those around to look away. Bright scarlet light flooded them.
Danai peered past Irina as the Phoenix belched fire in massive streams, scorching thousands in a blink. Then the mighty bird snapped its head, looked directly at Irina, and launched itself toward the ledge.
Irina grasped Danai’s wrist, slamming his palm onto the Orb, and spoke the final words of her incantation a heartbeat before the Phoenix reached the mountainside.
Irina’s body flared, then dissolved into liquid smoke that poured itself into the Orb.
The sphere of crimson pulsed one final time.
Danai vanished.
The Phoenix dove headlong into the ledge, obliterating everything in her path. Flames billowed in every direction, filling the sky with waves of energy and heat. The world trembled, and the sound of earth rending and rising was heard across the continent. Mountains rose, replacing the battlefield plains, forming a range—a barrier—between aggressor and foe.
Far to the west, on the edge of a distant capital, an ebony stone rose from frozen earth.
A lone man pulled his hood off his head and gawked as brilliant symbols flared white then faded to gold, searing deep into the monolith. Line after line appeared, offering guidance, giving him purpose and direction, a path to restore what was lost. In that moment of chaos and fear, he raised the now-dulled Orb above his head and pledged his life to her cause.
To her Return.