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He had long, wild hair; sunken cheeks; blank, white eyes; and, in a black sheath, a handsome blue dagger made out of what seemed to be pure sapphire. The dragon, a small Egyptian Taragan, fell over when the boy dismounted. It was clearly exhausted, yet still visibly breathing. Senator Mendoza, outraged, jumped from one of the lower rows, magicked himself to float to the ground, and rushed over to the boy, yelling.

“Do you not realize that this is—?” He was cut short.

The boy had done some kind of spell on him that sent him into the stone of the side of the cathedral. What spell he’d done was a mystery because he’d uttered no word at all. He had merely brandished his hand and smiled.

He began to straighten up, looking satisfied with himself. When he spoke, it was in a voice that did not match his appearance. He sounded louder than any human Caster had ever heard; yet he was not yelling. He sounded calm, cool almost.