Over six decades ago, the world of Kresa teetered on the precipice of a monumental transformation: the dawn of the Arcane Era. In those days, I was a Mage Sentinel, entrusted with safeguarding the ancient and formidable art of astral magic. This tale unfolds in the waning light of day, a time when my students were brimming with anticipation for the forthcoming summer break, a season devoted to honing their magical skills in preparation for the ceremonial return in September.
Astral magic was the common thread binding society, a gift that manifested within most from birth. Between the ages of six and eight, they could either nurture this mystical energy and ascend as magi, or let it wither into oblivion. However, a select few abstained, driven either by their irrelevance in the arcane world or, more often than not, by their deeply entrenched convictions.
My journey into the arcane commenced when I was a mere twelve-year-old, embarking on a relentless pursuit of power. It was a journey that led me to the ultimate zenith of a Mage Sentinel at the age of thirty-four. But my path was not without its perils, for the world beyond our borders regarded Kresa with suspicion, branding it a realm of witchcraft and dark mysticism.
Yet, within the confines of our haven, we celebrated the beauty and marvel of astral magic, deeply ingrained in our traditions and cultural heritage. The path I had chosen was not one to tread lightly, for I had earned allies and adversaries alike, etching my presence indelibly into the tapestry of our realm.
The time was an evening of unparalleled tranquility, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon and cast the world in a soft golden glow. I found myself within the grand castle that was the sanctum of the Mage Sentinel, an imposing edifice adorned with intricate stained glass. Nearby, a church stood in silent vigil where devotees sought solace.
In that serene setting, amidst the golden hues of dusk, I pondered the mysteries of astral magic, weaving its enigmatic threads. It was on one such evening that fate delivered an astonishing revelation. I had unearthed a novel magic stem, an anomaly unseen for over two centuries. My heart brimmed with elation, and the compulsion to share this momentous find grew irresistible.
Rushing to my supervisor, the esteemed head Magus, I divulged the discovery with fervor. However, I was not one to court the limelight, and my inclination was to keep a low profile. It was the prudent choice, but my urgency was undeniable.
The supervisor verified the discovery, yet the fear etched across his face told a different story. His name was Stanley, the Mage Sentinel who had guided me on this remarkable journey. Without a word, he vanished that day, leaving a void that the world could never fill. Stanley's memory hung over me like a specter, a constant reminder of the past.
As days stretched into weeks, a meeting was convened to deliberate on the newfound magic stem. The assembly comprised the Grand Knights, Superior Knights, and the grandmaster, the chosen one of the gods. The room buzzed with conjecture about the potential ramifications of the potent discovery. Historical records referenced the existence of magic stems, but none had displayed the sheer might of this newfound entity.
The grandmaster, in his wisdom, proposed a cautious approach.
"We shall sequester this newfound revelation deep within the confines of the School of Astral, ensnared by the darkest tendrils of astral magic. It shall be locked within an impenetrable vault, with only I granted the privilege to scrutinize its mysteries. Our society has transcended the need for further magical exploration."
A hush enveloped the room, and the silence weighed heavily on us all. A Superior Knight named Olvin Iros, a master of both magic and swordsmanship, voiced concerns about the dangers posed by the magic stem. Olvin, esteemed and respected, was a revered figure within Kresa.
The grandmaster, his gaze locked on Olvin, turned to me for approval.
"Alan, what say you?" he asked, with an air of expectancy. I deliberated for a moment before accepting, making it contingent upon my vigilance. Olvin's expression wavered, revealing a hidden depth, a layer concealed from the world.
With Olvin by my side, I assented to allow the examination but under the watchful eye of my overhead supervision. Olvin's reaction was peculiar, his expression faltering, revealing an underlying unease that raised my suspicions.
The grandmaster, sensing the tension, decided to conclude the meeting with a simple declaration. "Well, I guess that's it?"
Following the meeting's dispersal, I retained the newfound magic stem in a secured glass container, preserving it alongside verdant life to monitor its growth.
Olvin and I descended into the depths of the Grand Castle, venturing into the negative levels where Kresa's enigmatic experiments and abominations were confined. These shadowy chambers, accessible only in extraordinary circumstances, held countless secrets.
Our surroundings were a surreal amalgamation of containment vessels, preserving a diverse array of beings. From imposing monstrosities to minuscule entities, each resided within its glass confines. We ventured to the one-hundredth level, the abyssal pit of the Crosscaster Domain.
Here, the depths held relics of arstral transgressions. This subterranean archive housed astral magic tomes, weaponry of untold power, and imprisoned magic users who had dared to defy our order. As we navigated the corridors, I, although acquainted with this eerie place, remained on edge.
At a depth of 26,000 feet beneath the earth's surface, we approached a secure laboratory, our destination for safeguarding the stems overnight. Within this room, we arranged various plants in a specialized terrarium, forging a living ecosystem. Leaving the chamber, we detected no anomalies or signs of disturbance.
The passage of days painted the once-green terrarium in a vivid shade of azure, marking the growth of the newfound magic stem. It had transformed the life within, subsuming the verdant existence into its pulsating blue aura. As the weeks passed, my initial apprehensions about Olvin's involvement waned, replaced by the realization that trust was an essential catalyst for progress.