The fire cackled, and a dark pillar of dark smoke rose slowly from the flames. A dozen young humans had gathered around, their hearts eager, their voices quiet. They spoke in hushed tones, discussing the day's happenings.
It was night, and the skies were without stars. The full moon was well hidden behind a thick bank of clouds, and the night was cold. A low mist hung in the chilly air.
A bearded man clothed in a thick coat of wolf fur was speaking: "Rumours of war have begun to spread. The elves and centaurs have gathered."
"The forces of Darkness are on the move," said another man, a scar running down his face.
"It's about time," said a woman with dazzling emerald eyes. "I have been preparing for this day."
Scar-face snorted, "A young lady like yourself should not be thinking about war, Seraphim."
The woman—Seraphim—pulled a dagger from beneath her lambskin robe. "The armies of Darkness destroyed my entire family. I will crush them all."
"Hush, now. The trees have ears," said a wise-looking man with shocking-white hair.
"Speaking of trees, the forest spirits have spoken," the man in the fur coat said. "Our Champion is of age."
An immediate silence fell over all the humans, and they looked at one another, not knowing what to expect.
"Listen!"
They turned their heads: in the distance there was the sound of drums, so faint and mellow, but growing stronger with every beat.
When the drumming was as loud as a temple bell sounding, a cavalcade of ghastly figures emerged from the mist, bearing blades that glinted as the clouds dispersed to unveil the full moon.
The gathered humans jumped to their feet; the ghostly army was about six yards from them, drawing closer and closer. The six men and two women around the fire drew their weapons: scimitars, daggers, bows and arrows. The wise man struck his staff into the earth.
Five yards now, then four; so close, and yet the only things they could see were their enemies' silhouettes.
"They're not attacking," noted Scar-face, readying his scimitar.
Then, as if in response to his words, the forces of Darkness, aback skeletal horses, charged forward.
"Now you've done it!" said Seraphim as the first line of riders drew near.
She dashed forward, but stopped as one of her companions shouted, "Seraphim! Fall back! We're no match for their numbers."
And at that instant when she turned her back, something smashed into the side of her head. She fell to the ground. The man who had ordered her retreat shouted her name, but she did not respond.
The army of Darkness slashed at the men, their blades slicing cleanly through their necks and limbs. The entire campsite was ravaged, till nothing was left but a towering pillar of fire.
A man with malicious, red eyes roared into the heavens, "Let this day be known! The Champion of Darkness has risen!"
Awakened by the resounding announcement, Seraphim stirred and rose. The giant burning pyre that had been her campsite just mere minutes ago caught her attention. The bloodied bodies of her companions lay in the dirt as the children of Darkness marched off, their voracious drumbeats lingering in their wake. Seraphim's first impulse was to give chase, to strike out at the monsters who had stolen her friends' lives. But even in the midst of her rage and confusion, she understood that such a rash act would only spell her death.
"Our Champion is of age."
With the words of her beloved leader echoing in her mind, she fled to the woods, allowing herself to sob with grief.
"I will find him," she said. "I will find our Champion, and end the power of Darkness."
*** *** ***
The Temple of Theoria was by far the largest edifice in the entire Visage district. There, a hundred devotees gathered daily to bring petitions and offerings to Mother Light. Mages from every corner of Light's half of the earth came to test their magical abilities against the temple's many masters. Aside from being a safe haven to the children of Light, the temple was also home to a large number of human orphans.
Despite its large size, Theoria could only house so many masters and orphans. Hence, once an orphan became of age—that is, eighteen years—they would be asked to leave the temple, or to stay on to be an apprentice. But the youngsters often did not fancy a life of devotion and discipline. Most desired to leave the temple in search of adventure and frolic.
However, there were those who saw the artistic walls and warm-hearted masters as their home, and eighteen-year-old Gabriel Pendragon was one of those few.
He was a handsome young lad, whose name was derived from the markings tattooed on his back: that of a dragon with angelic wings. His ears were like an elf's, and his eyes were the bluest of blues. So mesmerising were they that several of the female orphans had already fallen in love with young Gabriel's eyes, and as he turned eighteen, most of them wept.
"Please," begged the young man. "Let me stay on as a caretaker. Theoria is the only home I know."
The man he was pleading with was Master Vincent Wolfsbane, whose wild mane of silver hair and fox-like eyes made him both feared and the butt of all dog-related jokes.
"Now, you know the rules, Gabriel," said Master Vincent curtly. "If you stay, you pledge your life to the temple. If not, the world will be your oyster."
"I don't want any oysters!" said Gabriel. "And neither do I wish to be part of the Theoria Court. But I grew up here and all my friends are here. You can't expect me to just leave!"
Master Vincent, who had been walking at a rather fast pace across the eastern corridor, halted and whipped himself about. "As I've mentioned: you know the rules. This conversation is over."
The master walked away without another word. Dismayed, Gabriel leaned against the corridor's railings, looking out into the world below.
It was beautiful: the hills were alive with the many villages scattered all across Visage; rivers ran across lush valleys, teeming with fish and water spirits of every kind; the vast plains were the playing field for the main town of Visage, a large fishing town filled with noisy fishermen, hollering merchants and laughing children.
But nothing—not even the legendary Echoing Plateaus—was as beautiful as the Theoria Temple. Not to Gabriel, at least. Every friend he had ever known was here. The walls hid several secret rooms and tunnels in which Gabriel had had several adventures in, searching for imaginary treasure or hunting invisible monsters. The classrooms were where he had learnt of the millennia-old warring between Light and Darkness.
"I can't leave," said Gabriel to himself. "Not now."
Above all that, there was another important reason why Gabriel could not leave the temple. And it was that same reason that prevented him from joining the Theoria Court.
Gabriel Pendragon was in love.
Her name was Persephone Ludwig, and she had the most silky, hazel hair, a pair of prominent cheeks, a sharp nose and bright mahogany eyes that brimmed with intelligence. Her skin was tanned with all the time she spent in the sun, taking long walks along the coast, above which the temple sat.
Persephone had a sweet face, brightened by that smile she seemed to wear every moment of every day. She was slim and fit—she jogged along the length of the beach every morning. Gabriel knew; he watched her. Introspective and witty, she always surprised others with her intellect and quick-thinking.
At sixteen, Persephone had two years to go before she would leave the temple, and Gabriel wanted to spend those two years with her. Nothing had happened between them yet, for he was still uncertain about her feelings towards him.
Rubbing his brow, Gabriel made to turn towards his dormitory. He was to clean it out by evening, before his birthday ended.
As he took a blind step forward, he felt something thump into his stomach. Looking down, he saw the tiny frame of Penelope, the little sister of Persephone. The two Ludwigs were taken from their abusive father eight years ago. Back then, Penelope had been just a baby, and Gabriel often helped to take care of her.
Little Penelope, whose arms were wrapped around Gabriel's waist, stared up at him with her soft, tawny eyes. They were glistening.
"What is it, kid?"
"Sis says you're leaving…" sniffed Penelope.
Gabriel smiled. "I have to. I'm eighteen…"
"I don't want you to leave!" Penelope cried, bursting into tears.
Lowering himself to her level, Gabriel embraced the little girl, saying, "Oh it's okay, kid. I'll come visit you often."
Penelope sobbed, "Promise?"
Gabriel nodded, still holding the hug. "And I'll even bring you gifts."
The girl pulled away, her tear-streaked face almost lighting up. She said, "Will you get me a Unicorn? Or a feather from that rare bird Sis keeps talking about?"
"You mean the Hercinia?" said Gabriel, smiling. "Of course, my dear. But you gotta promise me you'll be good, alright?"
Penelope nodded profusely. "I will, I promise."
"Now get back to your sister; she'll be worried about you," he said, patting her on the back and sending her off. She walked away, looking back over her shoulder; Gabriel kept up his comforting smile, the smile that he found the hardest to give.
He returned to his dorm, the bed in which seemed to beckon to him. This cotton bed was the only one he knew, and he found the idea of sleeping elsewhere almost unthinkable.
"Time to pack," he muttered, grabbing the luggage bag given to him by Master Apollo, who used to secretly teach him advanced healing arts in his office. Gabriel was quite fond of him.
He packed well into evening, taking his time. Several friends, including his dormitory-mate (who was half a year younger than Gabriel), came to wish him farewell. Several of the girls made him a giant cardboard heart, filled with touching testimonials of him. Gabriel commented that it was not going to fit inside his bags, but he appreciated the thought.
Finally, after changing out of his Theoria tunic, he was done. As he descended the long, spiralling steps leading down to the temple's main hall, he saw the one person who had yet to wish him goodbye.
Persephone was walking up towards him, and Gabriel found himself unable to move.
"They told me you're leaving," said Persephone, her tone not betraying any emotion.
Gabriel swallowed. "It's not my wish…"
"You weren't going to say goodbye?" asked Persephone. She was now a step below Gabriel. The hall was empty, except for the man at the front desk.
"I couldn't find you," he said, feeling as if he should smack himself.
They stayed quiet for awhile, Persephone's eyes searching his.
"Look, Persephone…"
But she shook her head. "No, don't say anything."
Moving up a step (she was half a head shorter than Gabriel), she planted a soft kiss on his cheek, causing his heart to leap.
His throat felt dry, so he did as she said, and did not speak.
"I just want to remember you like this," she continued to say. "Well…"
Gabriel wanted to scream.
"Goodbye then, Gabriel," said Persephone as she turned to walk up the stairs.
"Wait! Escort me out," Gabriel wanted to say, but he didn't. Instead, he moved into the hall, and out the wide, oak doors.
It was well at night now, and the cool breeze did little to lift Gabriel's spirits. Now standing at the front of the wrought-iron gates, he turned back to give one last look at his former home.
The temple looked stupendous from the outside. Even at night, its vast silhouette was magnificent, and little beams of light came from several of the windows. The many adjoining towers and buildings were constructed in a diamond-shaped fashion, giving the Theoria the nickname "Diamond of Visage".
"Well…this is it," said Gabriel to his shadow as he rested his palm against the cold, metal gate.
It took much strength to force himself to turn away, but he did, making his way down the winding road into the main town, which was an hour's walk away from the temple.
He was halfway down the path when it happened: something like a shooting star—only much bigger, brighter—shot past him at a frightful speed. Gabriel whipped around, only to be thrown back by the blast. His ears rang. His entire body went numb.
Where the temple had once stood so majestically was now a burning heap of rubble.