BEING A RIFT MAGE is often quite dull.
They sit in their perch, gazing into a circle of silver basins, each reflecting different locations in Pyli, the many happenings throughout the land. Storm stands tall and unmoving, occasionally sweeping her hand across a basin to change the winds; Ruin looms in the corner, ancient and upright, his pale eyes fixated on the scenes, observing them all at once; Sphinx, meanwhile, sits cross-legged in a corner, amber eyes flickering back and forth between her superiors. Her toe taps against the marble with increasing irritability.
Finally, the smallest of the Rift Mages snaps.
“We should do something.”
Sphinx hops to her feet and stands, purposely obstructive, between Storm and her basin of choice. The head Rift Mage looks unamused.
“Something.” She arches a brow. “Something like…?”
“Something fun!” Sphinx replies, her grin characteristically catlike. “Something to make things interesting.”
“There are rifts opening all across our land, dragging foreigners into Pyli against their will,” says Storm, deadpan as usual. “I fail to see the lack of interesting in that statement.”
“Ugh, you know what I mean!” says Sphinx. She slinks around Storm and stands on her tiptoes to drape her arms around the taller woman’s shoulders. “I’m sooooo bored, sitting up here all day! You’re so quiet, and Grandpa never wants to play with me!”
At Sphinx’s less-than-savory nickname, Ruin’s lip twitches in distaste.
“Besides,” Sphinx goes on, “with all the new citizens, don’t you think it’d be nice of us to throw them a little something special? A party?”
“A festival,” Ruin supplies, startling Sphinx. “It has been many years since we made an appearance at the Idarin Harvest, Storm. Perhaps our presence is overdue.”
Storm considers it for a long few moments, eyes fixed to the basin directly ahead of her. Idarin. Pyli’s agricultural province. Though the Harvest Festival is an annual occurrence, it’s typically arranged in a straightforward fashion, with the few odd bells and whistles. However…
Storm has to admit, she’s curious about these rift-entry citizens. How powerful are they? How useful will they be toward the eventual eradication of the monsters? Perhaps…a few tests might be necessary to gauge their aptitude.
Besides, Storm has to privately admit: she’s a little curious about these new recruits herself.
“Fine,” she says, and Sphinx all but squeals with glee. “We will arrange a visit to Idarin. We will prepare our own separate events to mark the arrival of our…new guests.”
Sphinx does a private little dance while Ruin looks on, apparently impassive. He clears his throat at length.
“Sphinx.”
She pauses mid-kick, glancing sideways at him.
“Gramps?”
Ruin steps into the light, eyes gleaming more than usual. “Be sure to keep things fair.”
Sphinx’s heart-shaped face cracks open in a leer.
“What kind of cheat do you take me for?”
