As expected, it was a beautiful day, one worthy of a painter’s brush.

The Night of Falling Stars was important to Savath. Not just the people, but the land itself. All celebrated it. By royal decree, no shop was allowed to stay open past noon, the Celestial Court couldn’t be convened, and all homes were to be decorated. Even the lowest members of society were included. Slaves were to be given meat for their dinners and a minimum of five petty criminals who had demonstrated penance would have their crimes forgiven.

Most believed that the holiday celebrated the day Basil, the first khan, planted the Star of Prosperity where the Celestial Tear would eventually form. A ridiculous idea. In his time, paper was a rare and luxurious item that had to be imported from the northern kingdoms. It was used for only the most extravagant purposes, nothing as boring and practical as record-keeping. There was no documentation from that time besides poems.

In that time, they also didn’t have any way to keep track of days. The Constellation Calendar was introduced during the reign of the 16^th khan, Algor Ba’le Al-Kazar, who had spent his time on the Celestial Throne pushing for more official procedures in the duties of officials and promoting the importance of scholars. There was no way to know the exact day the first khan made his contract with the land.

There was a time when the true reason behind why the Night of Falling Stars fell on a particular day was a royal secret. Generations of loose lips, fighters sharing drunken secrets to their comrades and officials trying to impress their favorite courtesans, made it common knowledge within the learned communities. Now, the explanation could be found in the Heavenly Library, available to anyone.

The power of the Star of Prosperity was too much for Savath to absorb at once. It was a gradual process, like a dog gnawing a bone until the beast got at the marrow inside. Every year, the land absorbed a little more of its power.

The Night of Falling Stars marked the completion of that cycle, a little more magic saturating the land. Some of that power bled into the air, charging it with energy that infected every creature, stimulating their moods and filling them with energy. It would grow more potent until it peaked as the full moon reached its zenith. Then it would flow into the members of the Al-Kazar family, most into the reigning khan but a non-insignificant amount would be divided between his children.

To Zara, the charged air manifested as a faint prickling along her skin and a barely audible ring in her ear. She imagined the sensations could become uncomfortable as the day wore on, but for the moment, she enjoyed them both as she lounged in the rooftop garden of her spire, the sky blushing at the sight of an Al-Kazar lady smiling softly while dressed in a thin nightgown.

The Al-Kazar palace was an expansive complex of buildings that included many courtyards, stables, several small homes for officials or guests that required privacy, and a menagerie of beasts from across the continent. The most noticeable of its features were the Gems, four spires that stood at the four corners of the main palace. Their golden domes could be seen from anywhere in the city and for days away if one stood atop a tall dune. They were the symbols of the Celestial City, guiding hopefuls from all over the country to its gleaming walls as sure as any star in the sky.

They were residences, only one step lower in extravagance than the main palace and given as rewards to Al-Kazars that made great contributions. It wasn’t unusual for a rinza, a royal daughter, to be gifted one but Zara was the youngest to do so, five years younger than the previous record holder.

A privilege that she earned, despite the rumors attributing it to her father’s favor. She was undoubtedly beloved, but her success was not born of that favor. Her father’s favor was born of her success. Should she fail him, he’d be quick to retract his support. Such was the way of the Al-Kazars.

Abandonment wasn’t something she had to worry about, lest she went out of her way to earn her father’s displeasure. She had paid her dues, so to speak.

Succession of the Celestial Throne was decided by merit. The royal blood and all who had it were blessed. Even those whose blood was thin were more likely to have beautiful faces, strong bodies, and acute minds. The thicker the blood, the greater the chances and the manifestation of their advantages.

But there was only one true blessing of a magical nature. One that gave al-Kazar fighters to bring down sand drakes with a single blow and gave them an ethereal beauty that dwarfed all others. It came from the magic crackling along her exposed limbs, reserved for the reigning khan and his direct descendants. Such power belonged in the hands of the worthy. Those who would receive had to prove who amongst them deserved it most with a competition of accumulated achievements.

The prospective khans were judged by their work in Court and their reputation amongst the people. Their sons by their scholarly knowledge and their hunting trophies. Their daughters by the mastery of their chosen crafts and their charm. Their competition was fierce and the judging was subjective, based entirely on the whims of the reigning khan.

Her father’s father was a man who admired the magical arts, a rare passion. Rulers were practical creatures by necessity and witchery wasn’t a practical art. While powerful in the right hands, it would never be something that benefited the city or its people in a major way. Many looked down on it, their views tainted by the dark legacies of sand hags and their blood magic.

It wasn’t approved of, but no one would dare deny a khan his passions. They said nothing as he poured resources into the Hedge, the only group of witches sponsored by the family, and those who wanted his favor thought to buy it with icons. He appreciated them all, regardless of purpose or power.

Zara believed she single-handedly won her father his throne, a belief she believed to be slightly colored by her ego as many members of the Court thought the same. As in everything else, the al-Kazars would excel in witchery, but few studied it.

It wasn’t something one could learn through rote, like most crafts. Spellwork required extensive knowledge in many fields, dynamic thinking, bravery, and good instincts all used in perfect conjunction. It was as dangerous as warfare. Maybe more so, as its threats were much more subtle than a sword and its consequences could be worse than death.

One of the largest obstacles to studying it was the price. Learning it properly required expensive materials, esoteric texts, and proper tutors who thought far too much of themselves in most cases. The total of such an education, over several years, was exorbitant enough to give even royals pause.

Zara’s father wouldn’t have funded her own education over more methods of accruing merit such as sponsoring hunting parties, a venture that often recouped or exceeded its expenses when successful, if she were anything less than a prodigy.

She had always been a sharp girl. She didn’t have a gift for absorbing knowledge, but her above average intelligence was supplemented by an intense focus. Her true talent was perception. Not of people, that was something she had to learn. Her perception of the other.

Her tutors gave her funny looks when she became distracted from their lectures, staring at blank walls or turning to where she heard a sound no one else had. Her father’s enemies spread rumors that she was weak in the head and cursed. For a time, the Court believed it and her father had little time for her.

It was a visiting witch that turned things around for her. They were frequent guests of the previous khan, sharing their discoveries with him or doing demonstrations for his amusement. She met Zara while a maid was escorting her through one of the many gardens. Finally, someone also the strange pictures with no color and heard the strange sounds. The witch explained what Zara was experiencing was her abnormally strong aura resonating with the many spirits attracted to the magical city.

Suddenly, her father was very interested at his then youngest daughter. The same witch that discovered her talent was hired to oversee her education and steer it in the direction of the magical arts.

Learning to sense her own aura, the bare minimum for any witch, was trivial. Manipulating it was as instinctual as walking. On top of her usual lessons of reading, math, history, dance, and etiquette, she was assigned tutors in the natural sciences. Later, animism, botany, and astrology.

Like all discipline, the best witches specialized. Some forewent spells and focused on alchemy. They could hex or they could heal. A select few used their magic in combat, the best able to rival fighters with royal blood.

Zara’s interest lied in Yuanmunzie, the Eight Realms. The work was mostly theoretical, as the other realms could only be investigated through the ways they affected the mortal plane. The most impractical avenue of study in an already impractical art. That wouldn’t do.

Suffer now for prosperity later. The quote was a bit melodramatic in regard to her life, but the principle applied. If her        father didn’t rule, her budget for her studies would be severely hampered. There was a chance it could be rescinded altogether, as her uncles would prioritize their own children.

To support her father, she set aside her own passions and pursued a field that would impress her grandfather.

Rather, she invented one.

Her goal was to create a discipline that focused on stripping away the mystical, ostentatious façade of witchery and joining it with the other sciences. In other words, practical magic. A paradox, it was thought.

Her critics, those intelligent enough to hold her to account for more than shallow “failings” like an occasional verbal barb when a debate partner managed to irritate her or her disinterest in romantic dalliances, said she didn’t deserve the title of prodigy when she had yet to make a new discovery. They were traditionalists, who thought that witches of any note made their mark discovering new reagents or crafting revolutionary spells.

Zara thought it was a waste of time. The witches of Savath had practiced witchery for centuries. Between them, they had discovered all but the most illusive secrets in the Dune Sea. Uncovering anything they hadn’t would take a lifetime and she had years before a new khan would be crowned.

Instead, she focused on improving what was already known. Simplifying processes, making them faster and cheaper. Consolidating knowledge so it was easier for researchers to parse through. Fixing the common misconceptions regarding witchery. Implementing better certifications to limit instances of rogue witches, standardize the teaching of magic, and instill faith in the abilities of recognized witches. Small things that those hungry to change the world overlooked or couldn’t be bothered with.

It was common knowledge that too much exposure to the sun was harmful to the body, particularly to the skin. The most famous salve to ward off Gunnez’s fire temperament called for the glands of a creature that bathed in moonlight, many rare herbs, and water from the Celestial Tear. It not only protected against the sun, but it also nourished the skin and left one lathered in it feeling comfortably cool for a full day, even in the height of summer.

Incredible…but not practical. A luxury that could only be afforded by the wealthiest of the wealthy, the price inflated by the limited amount available, its production hampered by a scarcity of materials and its complicated creation process.

Zara took the blood of the same creatures, common herbs used to soothe burns, and the water from the Celestial Tear to create a similar salve. It wasn’t nearly as effective, the cooling effect lasting for scant moments and needing to be reapplied if the user spent hours in the sun, but far more could be made for much less of a hassle. That naturally meant a lower price, affordable even for successful merchants and skilled artisans. More sales meant more money, of which Zara was due a fraction for crafting the recipe.

That was the nature of her work. All of it was derivative but it improved lives, in turn improving her reputation, her father’s, and all al-Kazars. Her grandfather doted on her fiercely, funding her research himself once she had a few successes to her name.

By the age of sixteen, she was a household name and all who concerned themselves with such matters knew her father would be the next khan. Four months before her nineteenth birthday, her grandfather abdicated and the Court’s prediction became reality. Her father gifted her a generous allowance and the Ruby, the spire named after the scarlet gemstones that decorated its arched entrance.

Her obligation to her father was done. Seeing her success, others had flocked to the field of practical magic, attracted by rumors of her inflated coin purse, so she need not worry about her work dying without her direct input. She had the money and the leeway to pursue her own interests. Her father’s was still in good health so she estimated he would reign at least fifteen years. She would be doused in Savath’s blessing for each year he survived the burden of the throne and each dose of its power would strength her aura and her magical perception.

For the first time since she was a girl, she no longer had to concern herself with her father’s politics, maintaining her reputation, or surviving plots to sabotage her. She would be left alone with her research. If she was particularly lucky, she’d be completely forgotten in the coming years.

Today marked a new chapter of her life. The thought made her sigh with contentment as the pink of dawn was replaced with joyful gold.