Return to Ravnica

“Hold on to something,” he said and jammed the mana cables directly into his gauntlet.

Ral’s eyelids began to flicker. A wind that had no source arose in the chamber, and all the hairs on Ral’s body stood on end. As zombified hands clamped onto him and began to drag his body toward the zombie horde, tiny arcs of storm energy crackled around his body. The air charged with hyperkinetic energies, and Ral felt himself float a few inches off the floor. He heard only the buzzing whine of power, like an overheating boiler. His vision went crackling white as he strained to absorb as much mana as he could. Like a newborn sun, every iota of Ral’s body exploded with power. All was noise and light, and then all was silence and darkness. He could hear nothing—see nothing.

Ral felt a strange pounding, and after a few moments he realized that it was his overcharged heart. In turn, he noted that he was breathing—evidence that he had somehow survived.

Someone lit a glow-lamp. Ral saw physical objects again, but through a thick fog. The scene appeared around him slowly. He realized that the chamber was a haze of dust and broken debris from the blast.

“Who’s hurt?” he coughed.

“I think we’re fine, sir,” said one Izzet mage, blackened and scorched but alive.

“Thanks to you,” said Skreeg, appearing out of the haze.

The Golgari undead were obliterated, having taken the brunt of the chaining energy surge. Pieces of brick dropped from the ceiling, exposing swaths of ancient masonry.

Ral felt more alive than he ever had before. His heart beat too fast, and he liked it.

“Skreeg,” said Ral. “The mana coils. Rev them up again. We’re finishing this experiment.”

“Sir?” said an Izzet researcher.

“What is it?”

The mage was looking up at the ceiling, at a bit of old stone exposed by the blast. “You’re going to want to have a look at this.”

***

Jace crept down the stairs to the main floor and approached the door. Kavin wouldn’t have knocked, and he didn’t expect any other visitors. He prepared a spell to sense the mind of whoever was outside. When he detected the thoughts of his old friend, he threw the door open wide.

Emmara looked as youthful as ever, but as she was an elf, her age tended not to show. She wore a white gown embroidered with a creeping ivy pattern that wound around her sleeves, branching into rich brown threading at the cuffs that resembled the roots of great trees. Jace knew she possessed a wisdom and quiet power that belied her youthful appearance.

“Good evening, old friend,” she said with a partial smile.

“Emmara! It’s been a while. Come in.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Jace’s sanctum was not exactly fit for visitors. As soon as she stepped through the door, he had to guide her apologetically through the detritus of his research. He shoved some pieces of stonework out of the way and they sat down on the floor by an old, unused fireplace, where the threadbare carpet gave way to a wide hearth.

Emmara scanned the place. “You’ve taken up archaeology?”

“It’s a new project, I guess you could say. A colleague and I are studying patterns in old stonework. I’ve seen the same patterns used in dozens of different sites around the district. They’re geometric carvings with repeating elements. I’m fascinated. Did you know that almost every building on this street has stone sourced from the same salvage yard?”

“I didn’t.” Her face was placid, but from the way she clasped her hands in her lap, Jace knew this wasn’t a social call.

“What brings you from Ovitzia?”

“I live here now, in the Tenth,” said Emmara. She offered a small object to Jace, holding it delicately in her fingers: a wooden broach in the shape of an intricately-veined leaf. It was too detailed to have been carved even by a master artisan; it must have been molded by magic.

“What is this?”

“A gift. From my guildmaster.”

Jace took the fragile wooden leaf in two hands. “Guildmaster?” He glanced at the small tree-shaped pin at her shoulder. “You’ve joined a guild?”

“I’ve returned to one. The Selesnya Conclave. I was with the Conclave years ago—before you were born, in fact, human boy. And now that they’re rebuilding, they’ve summoned me back. You must have seen how the guilds have come back in force.”

“To be honest, I haven’t seen much beyond this building lately,” Jace said with a shrug. He realized that his hair was probably sticking out in every direction, and that Emmara had dramatically upped the cleanliness ante by her visit.

Emmara focused on him intently. “Jace, what do you know of the Guildpact?”

It was a delicate question. Jace had never been fully honest with Emmara—he had never told her he was a planeswalker, a mage capable of traveling between planes of existence. Most people had no idea there were planes beyond their own, and those who were bound to a single plane didn’t enjoy hearing that their familiar home was only one of a potentially infinite array of worlds.