I wake up on my back on a hard, cold surface. Unlike the uneven ground I just fell on, this floor is perfectly flat and smooth. But, even stranger, both the ground and the air are freezing cold. There is no wind, but the cold air still pierces my skin. I never imagined I would miss the itchy fabric of my hooded tunic.

I panic as I realize my tunic is missing. I can feel some fabric wrapped around my upper body and hips, but my arms and legs are in direct contact with the cold floor. What the hell has happened? Where the heck am I?

I try to recall how I got here. The last thing I remember is being struck in the head with a halberd. Am I at a hospital? The hard, cold surface on which I am lying could be an operating table.

I try to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots through my neck and throat. I try to scream, but I cannot seem to get out any air. The pain spreads throughout my body, reaching the tips of my fingers and toes. As if I were stabbed by a thousand needles.

I hear an unfamiliar voice. “Try not to move. You will hurt yourself."

I ignore the voice and the stabbing pain in my body as I sit up. The pain gradually fades, and I open my eyes.

The hexagonal room I am sitting in could not be more different from a hospital. The walls are slanted, as though I were inside a pyramid. They appear to be made of some type of light blue stone and decorated with intricate carvings. The carvings on the wall closest to me appear to depict elves in a forest fighting a giant spider, while another shows a dragon resting on a pile of gold. A thin layer of frost covers every square centimetre of the wall.

I glance down at my body. A sheet of light blue silk appears to be draped around my upper body. Calling it clothing is a stretch because it looks like someone just threw a sheet over me and tied some random knots to keep it in place.

The hard surface on which I am sitting appears to be the floor. It is made of dark blue metal and is so smooth that I can see my own reflection. A massive circle is drawn on the floor around me, embellished with strange symbols. Twelve black candles are placed at the circle's edge, forming the shape of a large clock. The candles' flames are deep blue and appear to radiate cold rather than warmth.

Outside the circle, three people are standing. One is dressed in a purple robe adorned with gold symbols. His hair is long and white, and his skin is wrinkled and blue, just like my mother's. It is unmistakably a frost elf, most likely over five hundred years old. His robe indicates that he is some sort of arcane wizard.

The other two humanoids are completely covered in reddish metal armour, and I can only see their eyes.

“Where am I?” I ask, my heart racing and shivers running down my spine. “What is this place? How did I get here? Where is my hooded tunic?”

I try to scramble away from the three figures, but every move I make triggers the sharp pain again. Every movement of every muscle hurts, as if I am being stabbed every time I move even a finger.

The elf approaches me and places his fingers against the side of my neck. He has a foul odour, reminiscent of decaying flesh. Despite my pain, I slap his hand away.

"Keep your filthy hands away from me!"

The man sighs, snaps his fingers, and turns to face one of the armoured people. "The subject seems uncooperative. Guard, could you please...”

“Excuse me.” I yell as heat rushes through my body, and my muscles quiver. "I am a person, you know. Not a 'subject.’ I can understand you! Do not talk about me as if I am not here."

The mage sighs and looks at me. “Okay, person. Just sit still so I can examine your body and see if the magic worked properly."

He reaches for my neck again, but I grab his wrist.

"Do not touch me!" I yell. I ignore the pain as it surges through my body once more. "I deserve to know what the hell is going on. Tell me who you are and where the fuck I am!"

The mage snaps his fingers again. The guard seems to understand this command, as he rushes over to grab my wrists. He forces me to stand, twisting my arms against my back and securing me in place. I try to fight him off and kick him, but each movement intensifies the pain. My heel makes contact with his armour, but I immediately regret it as pain shoots through my lower leg.

“The more you struggle, the more it hurts.” The mage grins. An unkind smile gradually spreads across his face.

I stop fighting and look him in the eye. Perhaps he is correct, and I should change tactics. I take a deep breath and focus. Magical energy starts coursing through my veins. I concentrate my thoughts on the mage, ready to strike him with as much thunder as I can. As I charge my magic, I hear thunder in the distance and wind howling inside the room.

The mage snickers and snaps his fingers. A flash of light momentarily blinds me, and I feel the magic dissipating. The room goes quiet again.

“What the hell did you do?” I yell.

“A counterspell.” He grins again. “I know evocation is all the rage among the young elves these days, but do not underestimate the power of a good adjuration spell like counterspell. It interrupts anyone casting any spell. Like magic.” He snaps his fingers and laughs. “Well, that’s because it is magic!”

He shakes his head, his eyes twinkling. “I must give credit where it is due. Despite your failure, the thunderclap spell is an excellent choice. A simple cantrip, but quite effective. Most mages are unaware of how to protect themselves against thunder. It is difficult to cast without being able to make the hand clapping motion, but I assume you have mastered the art of meta magic, so that doesn’t stop you."

I look at him, and my stomach turns. “Are you enjoying this?”

He pokes my throat with two fingers. “Of course I am enjoying this. What kind of wizard would I be if I did not appreciate the science of magic? And, besides, it has been a long time since I have examined a rare specimen like you."

“A rare specimen?” I ask. “What the hell do you mean?”

“You are definitely an elf, but not any kind of elf I have ever seen before.” He licks his lips. “And as a bonus, a sorcerer. I am fascinated by them. They are born with magic abilities, unlike us wizards, who have to study for years.”

I try to tilt my head away as he feels up my throat in various places, but it does not work.

“What kind of wizard are you?” I ask. “Last time I checked, healing magic was reserved for nature and divine mages. How can you even cast healing spells?"

He laughs for a long time and approaches me, bringing us face-to-face. I can feel his breath on my face and the fringe of his long rope brushing against my legs.

“I am not a healer.” He whispers. “I am a necromancer.”

I gasp. My legs weaken as the room spins around me.

"Look at this circle," he says, excitedly pointing to the large circle drawn on the floor, like a child showing off his new toy. "This is called a resurrection circle. Any dead body placed inside will be brought back to life. It does not even require the full body. The head alone is sufficient. It will regenerate the rest of the body.”

“Is that what happened to me?” I ask, trying to ignore the rotten smell of his breath. “Did that dragonborn kill me? Was my body placed in this circle and then resurrected?"

He chuckles. "Only your head was placed inside this circle. And it regenerated your entire body. He strokes my arm with his hand, causing me to retch and shiver. Both his touch and the odour of his breath are extremely nauseating. "And it did a fantastic job, even if I say so myself."

My stomach twists and shifts, and I cannot hold back anymore. I throw up all over him and myself, coating my makeshift gown, legs, and feet, as well as his face, robe, and shoes, in a thick layer of sour-smelling yellow liquid.

He wipes his face with the back of his hand and spits angrily on the ground. "All right, have it your way; that is enough magic for today." He nods to the guard behind me. "Take her to the bathroom and clean her up."

I. 2. The Dark Arcane Arts

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