The Evolution of Magic
Katya Hvostova

The world was no more than spinning blues and the metropolis of Lüstralin seemed an eternity away. Felix felt the frigid winds in his blond undercut as his motorcar spun in circles on the icy road. He kept one hand on the stirring wheel, fully turned to the right, and his foot on the gas as the motorcar’s back wheels kicked up shredded ice.

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“Right, you’ve had your fun. Let’s stop now.” A semi-transparent, ghostly form of a young man blinked into existence on his left, floating beside Felix outside the vehicle. Felix ignored him, slamming the car into the spectre’s ghostly figure. The draugr’s form burst into ghostly light before reforming beside Felix, hovering closer to him. “You’re going to crash!”

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“Why? Are you getting dizzy?” Felix replied.

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“I’m fucking dead, Felix. I can’t get dizzy. It’s just that, I don’t know, the only reason I’m still here is to protect your stupid ass!”

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“It’s not because you love me?” Felix put a hand to his chest and batted his eyes.

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The draugr looked away. “Shut up.”

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“Don’t you trust my driving skills, Klaus?”

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“What driving skills? Your old man just got you this motorcar yesterday! You’ve literally never driven before in your life!”

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“All the more reason to believe that I can handle this.”

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“Why did old man Ziegler even buy you a car like this? It’s not like you can even drive it anywhere outside of the burg. It doesn’t have tracks! Or any sort of safety features! An absolute waste up here in the winterlands!”

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“For this!” Jokingly, Felix almost took his hand off the wheel.

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“You rökir! Put your hands back on the wheel right now!”

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“I’m kidding. By Frith’s icy balls, you’re so uptight.” Felix secured his hands on the wheel. “Besides, I’m not that much of an idiot.”

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Amidst the blur of lights and colour from the silhouetted metropolis, Felix caught sight of dancing lights, flickering between red and blue, growing larger and likely closer. Felix mumbled curses under his breath as he attracted the attention of the city patrol, the Corvus Cortex.

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“You are that much of an idiot, Felix.” Klaus ran a hand through his nest of ethereal black hair.

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“I’m your idiot, elskar.” He winked at the draugr. Then, he turned the steering wheel to the left, straightening out his wheels, and shifted the motorcar into the second gear. With little traction, it took a couple of moments to get the car to move in the direction he wanted. Felix kept his eyes on where he wanted to go, home to Lüstralin.

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He sped over the ice, using the momentum he had built up, spinning the car in circles to glide towards the patrol cruisers. The motorcar drifted on a slight angle as they drifted past the city watch. Their motorcars were fitted with tracks, which meant they were far slower and far less maneuverable. Felix blew the draugr within the cop car a kiss as he passed. He knew they would not dare open fire. This chase was nothing more than a performance of order as Ziegler owned the lives of every one of the draugr. Felix imagined the carnage that would occur if any one of them dared to shoot him dead.

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He drove—or more accurately drifted—back to the metropolis of lights. Lüstralin resided on a hill adjacent to Lindrache Canal. The metropolis hosted billboards of steam engines, sprawling buildings, and factories, which belched smoke and fire into the skies like a sickly dragon. Each structure was grander than the last; the higher one climbed the ziggurat hive, outfitted with electric lights and bright windows, the closer one came to the crown of Lüstralin, the Ziegler Tower.

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Lüstralin’s entertainment district was alive with nightclubs, cabarets, and dance halls. Swing music could be heard on every street corner, warring for attention. This ill polis smelt of cigarette smoke and decayed dreams. Felix took notice of the number of beggars roaming street corners, children picking through the dirt for scraps of food, and dreamers passed out high on opium in the alleyways. A double-edged home. Felix straightened out the car, slammed his foot on the gas, and sped down the road. The flash of red lights reflected on his face.

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Felix turned down a narrow road, which led into a major intersection. If he timed it right, he could just make it across and leave his pursuers in the dust. Felix held his breath as a couple pedestrians ran into his path. He shifted to the right, nearly losing control over the vehicle as the pedestrians scattered like roaches to light.

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“Ziegler is going to kill me when he finds out,” Klaus murmured.

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“Aw, it can’t be that bad, you’ve already died once! Second death can’t be so bad!”

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Felix pressed his foot on the gas. His stomach felt light as the motorcar began to pick up speed, barreling towards the intersection. Then, another motorcar seemingly came out of nowhere on his right. Felix’s chest tightened as he felt the headlights of the other car singe his courage. He swerved to the left, narrowly missing impact, as the wheels of the car screamed. The motorcar kept swerving, losing traction on the ice, and Felix spun the wheel in the opposite direction. He straightened out before colliding with the sidewalk and sped off down the road.

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As he was fleeing the scene, he could hear the man he almost hit cursing and swearing at him. The other driver’s insults halted as another car hit him from behind. The motorcar continued down the road, losing the coppers in the intersection pileup. Felix kept driving for a bit longer, keeping to the one-way side roads as opposed to the wider main ones. He skidded to an abrupt stop outside of a nightclub called The Mistletoe Cabaret.

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Klaus blinked into existence, still incorporeal, on the sidewalk with his arms crossed.

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“See, was that so bad, elskar.” Felix got out of the car. He patted himself down. “And would you look at that, not a scratch on me!”

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“You still could’ve gotten us all killed. You could’ve hit a pedestrian along the way. Or worse, another motorcar! Or a carriage full of orphans!” Klaus grumbled, throwing his hands up in the air while pacing in place.

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“You’re still in your spectre form, you know.”

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“Felix,” Klaus scowled and crossed his arms, “I know what you’re doing.”

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“Is it so bad that I want to kiss you right now?” He stepped closer to his boyfriend. Klaus crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, allowing the sliver of a smile to appear on his face.

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The draugr’s form became corporeal, like frost spreading in geometric fractals over glass. Klaus had blue-tinted skin, which looked peppered in ice, and yet, his large eyes were a fresh, blood-red. He had fangs, which were long and thin, akin to that of a viper. He wore a darker blue sports back suit. Before Felix could kiss him, Klaus covered his mouth and started blowing air into his hands.

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“Wait. Hold on a moment.”

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Felix shook his head. “Does that do anything? You know, cause you don’t breathe?”

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“I don’t know. You tell me?” He kissed Felix. The draugr’s lips were cold but fresh, almost like mint. Felix melted into it, smiling halfway through.

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“You take my breath away, as always, elskar,” he whispered before kissing him again.

“You’re still not off the hook for this.” Klaus smiled. “You may be charming and handsome, but you’re still a reckless asshole who almost got us all killed.”

Felix looked towards the nightclub, noticing two men he recognized. The first was an average-sized lad with a thin ginger moustache, wearing a long, black overcoat trimmed with fox fur. His companion was a draugr who was much taller than him. The draugr was tall and boasted pearly fangs, red eyes, and pointed ears. He lacked the same awareness and personality that Felix’s boyfriend had. Klaus was an anomaly, as most people’s consciousness tears apart upon becoming an undead. The draugr were an abomination of the life cycle, preventing soul-threads from entering their next life. The unlikely pair stood on the steps of the building; the man was smoking as his draugr watched passers-by dutifully.

“Herrmann,” Felix muttered.

Klaus followed his gaze and squinted. “How do you know they’re Herrmann?”

“Those vårtirs wear my father’s silver, but reek of trouble.” He caught the glint of their polished rings, worn prominently on their left hands.

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“They do look shifty and they’re definitely not your father’s goons. What do you think they are doing here?”

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“Probably here to wish me a happy fucking birthday.” Felix moved towards them. However, before he got far enough, Klaus caught his hand.

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“Where are you going?”

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“I wanna see if they got me a present.”

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“You know Herrmann. Those bastards don’t travel alone. We should go before it gets messy and especially before they see us.”

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“Fine!” His boyfriend rolled his eyes.

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Klaus and Felix retreated from the backstreet and found themselves on the fringes of Lüstralin, known to the locals as Rattenloch, where former noble estates whittled away. Most of the buildings were vacant and in complete disrepair, aside from the few lots that homed opium dens and low-class brothels. The streets in this venerable district were muddied, tar-coloured, and populated by the sickly, maimed, or old.

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Rattenloch was once the backbone of the metropolis—it had seen the worst of the war bombings, the violent revolts, and the murder of the royal family. Felix had not been alive when the Kråmnir was shot by the auteurs, but he had lived through the Progression War as a child. Although he had little memory of it outside of the bombings, which he had thought was merely thunder. The buildings showed the scars of the war when the eastern tyrants thought to rub salt in humanity’s wounds after the human defeat at the Spire of Surtr.

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The pair passed a residential building that was in complete disrepair. A rusted, fire-damaged two-seater fighter plane buried itself into the building’s heart. Its wings were torn off, and there was little left outside of a metal frame. Planes were coffins, far too unstable to fly and a gamble with the constant shifting of the winter’s path.

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Klaus pulled Felix into the first abandoned building they saw. They crept in through the broken-down door. By the looks of the place—the faded tilted archways, ceilings, and the pillars which guarded the old knave—Felix guessed it was a shrine to a god. Yet, there were no altars for blood offerings, no stains of carnage on the floor, or animal bones. He wondered who this sacred ground belonged to. Papers, debris, and looted furniture were scattered about the old dark structure. He stepped towards the wall, noticing a crudely mural painted on the wall.

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The first depicted a fire seraph holding a key within the shape of a heart, surrounded by the eight gods of Romeldaros. Felix recognized each of them, aside from the seraph. Yet, there was something about the creature that sparked a different sense of familiarity. Unlike the other gods, his feeling of recognition came from something intimate, like looking at a photograph. The second mural showcased the gods being cast into the world like falling stars, as the seraph wept above them, plunging a knife into their own form. Felix did not know what to make of the murals. He unholstered his pistol, listening for any sounds inside the church. However, the place was completely silent. Then, just as Felix had let down his guard, he heard a rustling sound. He pointed the pistol towards the altar.

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“D—d—do not bE alarmed—ARMED. I am n—n—not here to HAR—harm you.” A feminine-sounding, robotic voice called. Her tone sounded distorted.

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Klaus nodded to Felix, and he lowered the gun, exchanging it for a lighter. He illuminated the dark corner of the shrine’s knave. A robot woman, with a steel skeletal structure, was propped up on the altar. Her body from the waist down was gone, likely looted for parts. She looked quite uncanny as most of her bio-flesh had decayed, aside from her face and parts of her arms, which exposed the rusted skeletal structure underneath. At the center of her chest, Felix saw her exposed hearth-core, a heart made from liquid fire that pumped golden blood throughout her body.

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“You’re an auteur?” Felix muttered.

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“Get behind me, Felix.” Klaus passed in front of him, shielding his partner with his material form. “These bastards are dangerous. They can kill you with their eyes. Or worse, trap your soul in their cameras!”

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“FE—fe—fear nOT. When I left—LEFT the Nickelodeon—on, they—they took my ey—EYES,” the auteur replied. Felix squinted, getting a better look at her, and noticed her eye sockets were empty. “I can—AN no longer HURT pe—people.”

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“Forgive us, we didn’t know someone was living in here. We’ll be on our way.” Klaus took Felix’s hand and tried to pull him out of the abandoned shrine.

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“Perhaps we should take her with us. It seems like she’s dying in here,” Felix added.

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“We’d be shot on sight if we were found with that thing.”

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“Oh, do not worr—worr—WORRY. I am happy here. I am—am finally FRee.”

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“All the more reason to leave her alone.” Klaus tried to pull Felix away again but could not move him. His feet were firmly pressed into the ground.

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“What is your name?”

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“Ed—ED—Edith Szar—ZARAK. What is—is yours?” Edith seemed to smile at Felix.

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“Felix. Felix Ziegler.” He returned the grin.

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“BeFORe you go—go, would you lik—like me to RE—RE—read your fortune. You have BEEN ki—kind to me. I wou—would like to—TO return the FA—favour.”

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“Sorry, we’ve got places we need to be,” Klaus replied before Felix had the chance.

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“Klaus, one reading wouldn’t hurt. Besides, Edith is completely harmless.” He escaped the draugr’s grasp and approached the auteur. Edith extended a hand to him. 

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“Ma—may I SEE your—your dominant hand?”

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Felix passed Klaus the lighter and presented the auteur with his right hand. She took it gently into her own. Edith was cold and dusty, as if she had been alone here for a long time. She ran her other hand over the lines marring his skin.

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“What is it?” Felix wondered. “Do you see a long life and a good destiny?”

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“No… I…I can’t ex—EXPL—explain it…the lines ON your han—HANDS are all clashing together. The PA—PAST and the FU—future is collidi—ING.”

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“Past and future colliding? What does that mean?”

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“A past and—and a FUTURE. ETER—eternity. Like me.” She continued to draw lines on his hand. “You have—ve no LIFE line, a cl—clear HEAD line, an—AND a hea—heart LINE that begins below the—the index finger.”

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“Okay, but what does any of this mean?”

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“You are HIM—him. The one—one he’s BE—been looking FOR.”

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“Who’s him?” Felix pulled his hand out of her grasp.

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“The Martyr,” Edith whispered. Klaus pulled him away from the auteur.

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“What does that mean?” He raised his voice.

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Edith’s head and arms flopped on the altar. Then, she cranked her head up at the pair.

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“D—d—do not bE alarmed—ARMED. I am n—n—not here to HAR—harm you.” The auteur repeated. She now wore a cheery, inviting smile.

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“C’mon, Felix, she’s busted. Let’s go.” Klaus chimed in. Felix did not say anything else. He followed the draugr out of the abandoned church as the image of the seraph burned into his mind. He wondered if the auteur had truly lost it, or if there was a grain of truth to anything she had said. Felix had always been told not to trust an auteur. They’re the ones who started the Progression War, they’re the ones who killed the Kråmnir.

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Yet, his anxieties about the auteur faded as questions brewed in his mind. The name of the Martyr held familiarity, but Felix could not quite pinpoint where he had heard it or what it meant to him. It was simply just another name in the wind.