There is a place where the influence of our founders does not reach.  Deep within the mountains, there is a basin.  The dark earth bears explosively.  With plants, dust and precious stones, teeming with an affinity for the arcane.  It is a castle at its epicenter, where the pantheon of magicians form their stronghold.  An alliance formed to draw the grain in a race against time.

For indeed, the resources do not appear unbidden.  Two times every year, the magic of imagination reaches its zenith, forming storms that transform the very surface of the world.  Nowhere else is that felt so thoroughly that in the basin.  The range of mountains becomes flooded with superstorms.  Sheets of lighting pour like rain, Frost that migrates and crashes like waves, geysers of flame, Miasma that divides reality, and hurricanes of debris.

Even if the landscape were recognizable year after year, the myriad of disasters ensured that even the most brazen of sorcerers heeded the baser instinct.  Seek solid ground, take shelter, and lie in wait.  The storms would pass, and the crossing, made possible again.

That wisdom is shared by every magician in history.  While there have been those bold enough to chase the tail of the storms, there has only been one to survive full exposure to the storms.

The immortal witch, who chose to brave the storm a second time.  Surely, even the strongest sorceress would not be so reckless.  Brenda watched the retreating form.  Just outside of the fortified gates until the risk of losing sight of her overcame her reservations.

The storms were young, and distant still.  If there was any hope to talk her down, it was now or never.  The latter - still borne to waste, had the sage not taken that path - was an unthinkable fate.  Brenda made haste to close the distance, resting only to secure her nerve.

Hours passed.  The touch of daylight waned.  The shadow of the first storm deepened.  Dust rose to the gail as Brenda saw her chances of return begin to slim.  Was she lost out here?

The stirring silt panned out around her.  A shroud of ash reducing visibility to zero.  An arm raised when the wind kicked up suddenly.  The storm banked.  A wave of complete darkness surged upon her.  Brenda came to realize the storm could not be avoided.  Her magic suppressed, unreachable throughout the senseless bog.

A cone brushed across her line of sight.  A split second before the wave hit, It was split with a wall of air, and a stream of pressure.  The debris bounced and flitted to either side.  A blade that gave the scholar a wide berth.

Brenda looked up from her arms, then down at the student before her.

Conical hat, Violet cloak and red robes.  It was the very same sorceress she was out for.  The way Tracy stood her ground was not dissimilar to the way she addressed rival students.  No holds barred, and an adamance that took to the side of arrogance.

But that was no social barrier.  The wall continued to expand and billow out until the wind beat the earth raw no longer.  The stabilized rock had cratered and felt a chilling breeze, but the two magicians were no worse for wear.

Tracy met her gaze, immediately shaking per the negative.  Straightening her hat and cloak, she walked into the storm.

For a few minutes, the silence was only broken by the occasional whistle and chirp of the storm.  The depression sank and filled around them, churning hundreds of beads with every step.  Before long, the monotony got to her.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Brenda asked.

“I learned and I was taught.  Do you think I took astrology courses because I enjoy them?”

“Astrologists don’t mould the weather…”

“I do what I need to to survive.  I take what I need, and what isn’t useful is cast to the wayside.  I left to be away from prompts looking over my shoulder.  You’re soft as ever, and I’m not going back.  Try not to linger or get distracted.  I don’t want to waste the effort.  Before we reach the ruin, make sure you’re prepared to get your hands dirty.”

Brenda was still trying to wrap her head around the situation.  After a moment's pause she perked up, “Ruin?”

Landmarks weren’t spoken of much outside those of the caldera.  The constantly shifting landscape meant that any point of reference was more likely to confuse or disorient.  Caravans maintained that keeping your gaze ahead and procession in line was the surest way to get through the basin.

That Tracy knew of those structures... had she planned this route beforehand, or did her memory run that deep?

In the days to come, Brenda found that Tracy’s composure came alive under the pressing storms.  As though a demon within - warring just beneath the surface - had been sated.  Whatever haunted her, she seemed almost happy, in spite of the dangerous conditions.

There were exceptions.  In the second week of the journey, Tracy silently refused to continue at the clip she set before.  At first, Brenda had struggled to match pace, and the interruption - while a welcome break - concerned her.

Fire storms.  Patches of land that had hardened and coalesced.  In one particularly clear break in the weather, Brenda caught sight of the damage they caused.  Piles of still burning ember, where ledges became meticulous to scale effectively.  Let alone when the wind picked up, and visibility went down significantly.

Brenda gripped her staff.  Dragon shale.  A chapter of perilous adventure, lost to her memory as part of a fairy tail.  This particular saga, had been very real.  As she drew the story to mind, Brenda realized they were deeper through the mountain range than she’d previously thought possible.

In a fraction of a season, they had crossed more than half of the southern mountains, punching through wave after wave of potent elements in the process.

Just what form of sorcery had Tracy uncovered?