As Ilis finished his meal, he pushed his chair back and rose from the table, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain fading into the background. The lavish hall stretched before him, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and its walls lined with portraits of Damas ancestors, their stern gazes following him as he made his way toward the library. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and parchment, a comforting aroma that beckoned him forward.
He reached the heavy oak door of the library and pushed it open, the hinges creaking softly. The room was both grand and intimate, its towering shelves filled with countless tomes, yet its cozy atmosphere made it feel like a sanctuary. Ilis stepped inside, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath his feet. His eyes scanned the rows of books, their spines worn and faded, until they landed on one in particular: "The History of Thalorien."
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the leather-bound cover, and pulled the book from its shelf. The weight of it in his hands felt significant, as though it carried the weight of the world itself. He carried it to a nearby table, the surface polished to a mirror-like sheen, and settled into a high-backed chair. Opening the book, he began to read.
"Thalorien was a world born of chaos, a realm where power was the only currency, and empires rose and fell like the tides of a stormy sea. The Xenon Empire, under the iron rule of Xeoras Ravenshade, revered the art of war above all else. They worshipped not gods or spirits, but the weapons they forged with their own hands—blades, spears, and bows that became extensions of their will. To them, strength was divine, and the battlefield was their temple.
The Aestrian Empire, shrouded in mystery and enigma, worshipped the Angel of Purity, a deity whose name belied its true nature. Do not be deceived by the title, for the Angel of Purity was said to be the most fearsome entity one could ever encounter—a being of unfathomable power and terrifying wrath. The Aestrian people, with their pale robes and solemn rituals, were as enigmatic as the god they served.
The Feldan Empire, in contrast, bowed to Velthara, a deity of wisdom and sovereignty. Velthara was revered as a regal and mystical force, a guide to those who sought knowledge and order. The Feldan people, with their libraries and academies, prided themselves on their intellect and their ability to harness the mysteries of the universe.
Yet, above the common folk were the Dreamers—individuals who transcended the limitations of ordinary humanity. Some awakened to their power swiftly, while others took years to unlock their potential. Their abilities were drawn from the Veylara Current, an ancient and omnipresent energy that flowed through the very fabric of Thalorien. This current, invisible yet potent, could be harnessed by those whose cores resonated with its frequency. Depending on the nature of their magic—be it Shadow or Light—they would awaken to their destiny. Those who failed to awaken were condemned to live as commoners, their lives deemed futile and insignificant.
But the Aestrian Empire, ever the innovators, discovered a new path to power—one that defied the conventions of Xenon and Feldan alike. They called it Necromancy, a dark and forbidden art that allowed its practitioners to command the dead. It was a power beyond the comprehension of the other empires, a force that could dominate all who stood in its way.
Thirty years ago, a man of unknown origin emerged from the shadows of history, altering the course of Thalorien forever. With the discovery of a new land, he summoned the leaders of the great empires and united them under a single banner. He preached a new way of life, one that demanded the abandonment of their old gods and traditions. The Xenon Empire forgot their worship of weapons, the Aestrian and Feldan Empires turned their backs on their deities, and all bowed to the will of this enigmatic figure. His name was Aestro Zentus, and he led them to 'The Lost Land'—a realm to the southeast, a place no one had ever heard of, let alone seen.
Under Aestro Zentus's command, the united armies marched into what they believed was hell itself. The inhabitants of this land called themselves the Abyss Walkers, and they were unlike anything the empires had ever faced. The Abyss Walkers opened a portal to another realm—a place of unspeakable horror known as the Chaos Empire. From this portal emerged creatures of nightmare, their forms twisted and grotesque, their very presence enough to strike terror into the hearts of the bravest warriors. Yet, Aestro Zentus remained resolute. He believed in victory, in the possibility of triumph over the darkness. 'We will return victorious,' he declared, his voice echoing with unwavering hope.
But that hope was shattered one fateful day. The Abyss Walkers launched a surprise attack, their forces overwhelming and merciless. I saw it with my own eyes—Aestro Zentus, the legend who had united the empires, fell to a spear that pierced his chest. Standing over his lifeless body was a man of terrifying presence, his long black hair flowing like a shadow in the wind. His eyes burned with a malevolent light, and his very aura seemed to drain the courage from those who dared to face him.
With Aestro Zentus gone, the empires were left leaderless and vulnerable. A letter soon arrived from the Abyss Walkers, marking the end of the Great War. Without their champion, the empires had no choice but to surrender. The war was over, but the cost was immeasurable. Families were torn apart, friends were lost, and countless innocent lives were extinguished. Though the fighting had ceased, the scars of that conflict would never heal."
As Ilis read, a realization dawned on him: there was no mention of the east. It was as if that part of the world had been erased from history, forgotten by time itself. He closed the book, his mind swirling with questions, and glanced at the clock. It was already midnight. Exhausted, he decided to retire for the night, the weight of the day's revelations heavy on his shoulders.
The next morning, Hali awoke with the first light of dawn. He dressed quickly and made his way to the training area behind the mansion, a secluded space where he could practice without interruption. Drawing on Ilis's memories, he focused on the Veylara Current, the lifeblood of magic in Thalorien. It was a metaphysical energy that flowed through the fabric of reality, connecting all living beings and the natural world. Some believed it was the breath of the gods, while others claimed it was the soul of the planet itself.
Every living being had a core, a metaphysical center that acted as a conduit for the Veylara Current. The core was unique to each individual, determining their affinity for magic and their potential as a Dreamer. Resonance with the Current was based on one's innate nature, emotions, and intentions, and it determined whether one would awaken to Light Magic or Shadow Magic. For Hali, it was Shadow Magic that called to him, a power born of darkness and mystery.
To wield Shadow Magic, Hali knew he had to confront his own darkness. He closed his eyes, focusing on the emotions that resonated with the Veylara Current—fear, anger, sorrow. He felt the energy flow through him, a cold and powerful force that he could shape and control. With a deep breath, he attempted to create a weapon, channeling the Current into a tangible form.
At first, his focus was too intense, and the energy erupted in a small explosion, sending a shockwave through the training area. Undeterred, Hali tried again, this time with a calmer mind and a steadier hand. Slowly, a dark, magnificent sword began to take shape in his grasp, its blade shimmering with an otherworldly light.
"Woah…so cool," he murmured, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He pointed the sword at a target in front of him, focusing his energy once more. A dark, swirling ball of power formed at the tip of the blade, growing larger and more intense with each passing second. With a sharp exhale, he released it, the ball hurtling toward the target and exploding with a deafening bang.
"Nice one, Ilis," came a voice from behind him. Hali turned to see Julius standing there, his arms crossed and a proud smile on his face.
"Good morning, father!" Hali greeted him, sheathing the shadowy sword.
"Good morning! Now, let's have breakfast and get going. We shouldn't keep an old friend waiting."
*Balthar…* Hali thought, his curiosity piqued. *I wonder what type of guy he is.* But little did he know what awaited him.