Something was different about the way the sands swirled in the courtyard... The evening too cool for the depths of the desert, and yet, it sent a feeling of reassurance through her as her sandals kicked through the trail. Months of sleepless nights had brought her here, endless practice of dark spells, things a girl as pure of heart as her wouldn't traditionally know. But while she illuminated her path inside the Magician's Training Temple, it was only darkness that swirled through her mind. Leather soles quietly slapping the floors, echoing off the alabaster walls, her fingers tracing the sporadic gashes and indentations in the main chamber from her Master's final battle. Tears brimmed her eyes, thinking back to the last time she saw his face, his hands resting on her nervous fists, telling her he'd be alright before he rode off... Mana shook her head and tossed the painful memory out of her thoughts, the ache of his absence already beginning to rise in her heart. Standing at the edge of the bridged walkway, she could see the faint markings of blood... The blood of her Teacher that had never been fully erased. She rubbed her arm nervously, not paying attention to the sleeves of scars and faded marks she wore, praying silently to the Gods for forgiveness for what she was about to do.

Mana sat down on the cold stone, and exhaled softly, unrolling a silken scarf and cautiously placing candles across its' length, heart hammering as she lit them one at a time, before taking another breath, and unfolded a scrap of aged parchment from her pocket. It was hard to read in the barely lit chamber, but it was only present for ritual's sake; it had been memorized long ago, when she had first discovered it in the bound tomes and scrolls of shadow magic. Every step was carefully planned, she thought to herself as she drew the petite blade. No mistakes, they couldn't be afforded, and she knew she wouldn't make one, after too many practices to recall, this time, it would work. A line of blood rose from her flesh, a few tears sliding from her eyes, thinking about where she wanted to be; with her Master, and her friend the Pharaoh, wherever they may be. With a wavering voice, she spoke the words, a rough and ancient tongue, growing stronger with every syllable, the very fabric of space growing warped and thicker as she continued to recite the blackness of the spell. The phrases running fewer, dwindling and running to a close, the crackling of air around her fading, she grew frantic. It had to work, she thought to herself, driving the implement deeper into her scarred arm. She was strong enough, she just needed more blood, the magic was too strong for her alone, it needed more blood to fuel it, she assured herself with panic surging through her, crimson dripping off her wrists. It wasn't working... Again, she was going to fail... Tears overflowed her eyes, her heart shattering inside her heaving chest. Desperately, she pierced, dragging her dagger across her arms, pooling onto the scarf and dripping onto the candles, the girl's fading voice still chanting the words. Too much now... She realized, with her mind fogging... Too much blood... Black spots appeared in her vision, little stars in her eyes shining from the light of the candles. Maybe it's working, she mused as her head spun, slumping and falling backward onto the floor, staring upward into the twinkling lights she thought she saw in the blacked out ceiling of the temple. She could feel herself floating away, could see the static and shimmer in the air. The young Magician felt herself drift now, her body feeling lighter and lighter, like her heart, knowing she would finally see them again, her Master and her friend and Pharaoh. A smile faded onto her face... She had finally done it. Successful she may have been, in one way or another, the darling girl was finally going to see her dear friends again. There was a sinister trick about the shadow magic, however... One so innocent may have failed to notice; that in the end, no spell or incantation could unlock doors to other worlds, but her own hand, her blood, the price of her short life would be the key to open them all.

Miles away in the palace, a priestess with a necklace of gold, and an all seeing eye awoke from her sleep. Her heart was heavy, and without using her gift, she knew. She knew Mana was gone, and it was too late to retrieve her soul. Isis lit an altar of candles, and prayed to the Gods for forgiveness. As her guardian, she should have seen the signs, should have kept a closer watch on her after her two dearest companions in this dimension were sent for another. Guilt twisted the priestess' stomach as she sat on her balcony, waiting for sunrise to deliver the news to the rest of the court, and to prepare a tomb for the one bit of sunshine the palace had left...