The Prologue

A canary sang in the center of the arc.

Sweet songs rang of nothing but truth, yet the men surrounding did little more than ignore her. After all, what was the insignificant song of a tiny yellow bird to the noble and wise? It was chatter to some—a background sound that they had grown accustomed to over the months. Others found it more... irksome. None smiled as the melody rose—a shame to the canary, who deserved much more than their grumbling. Smoke would be huffed past tobacco stained, but otherwise white beards—tendony, age spotted fists would slam against table tops.

All was in vain, however, because what was that songbird to do with her day if not sing her spite?

“Light it,” was the command that came on a voice whispery with age and disuse.

“Light it.”

The men turned to look the direction of their master—the noblest and wisest, surely...

...Doubtfully.

One would pipe up. A younger, more foolish member, of course. One who dared to allow such a thing as pepper to mar what should have been an entirely salt white beard. “Light it? Are you certain?” he stood from his workstation to whisk across the room. “No one has given us the command. His lordship is a fortnight's ride from the-”

“Light it,” said the first, with much more certainty.

If anyone had dared to ask the canary her opinion, perhaps the world would not have ended that day. Perhaps those wise men in that grand, circular room with all their age and all their power would have waited... Because on the horizon, riders did ride. Mounts foaming and bloodied from that all out race, they did indeed ride. They rode and rode and whipped their horses raw, sealed letters clasped in armor encased fingers.

Letters that should have saved the world.

“Light it, you thrice damned imbeciles!” But if you wanted something done, it was best to do it yourself. Turquoise robes furled as he strode to the canary—to the arc. She sang as billowy sleeves were rolled to the elbows of arms that had once been strong. Her tune would only falter once as the sparks jumped from hair to hair on those boney limbs, singes left in their wake.

This man could not possibly distract her, though. She had a job to do. The arc sparkled a vibrant yellow as its orb bobbed in response—floating happily to the tune of her music.

Someone shouted a plaintive “No-” but they were most likely too late.

An enchanted little bird had kept that orb happy. A happy orb meant a controllable arc meant stability in all their lives. Now that canary smoked and sizzled on the tiles.

The orb settled on a shivering black.

In silence and darkness the old mages worked, the riders continued to ride and a young king held his breath...

And there, the world stopped.

…

Only to be jump-started by that salt and pepper magician.

“Get me a box,” was said quietly. “Fetch a box,” came a bit louder. A glance over a shoulder would provide him with the reason for no “yessirs” or sounds of rushing foot-falls. He was the only one left—alive that was. The floor was a veritable sea of stinking corpses in vibrant mage robes. What it lacked, however, was the flame broiled canary. And now that he thought about it, the quiet was distinctly song-filled.

A small voice rose to grab at his attention. “What will you give?” it asked.

“Anything. Everything.”

“So be it.”