In a dark and oppressive room, a middle-aged man with closed eyes and silver hair knelt before a small wall of the chamber, praying with palpable fervor. Each word seemed charged with an almost supernatural intensity, faintly resonating in the still air.
A few minutes later, he opened his eyes, revealing only his left eye. The other eye socket, dark and hollow, hinted at a disturbing void that enhanced his terrifying appearance.
"Open the door." he ordered in a raspy voice, reminiscent of ghostly legends with its frightening tone. At his command, two young people appeared, stress clearly visible on their faces.
"Mr. Morvan." one of them began, his nervousness palpable. "Yesterday, during a raid, we found a dark sphere. We couldn't understand what it was, but it seemed valuable. We thought it best to wait for you to see it with your own eyes."
Upon hearing this, Morvan nodded and said : "Show it to me then."
One of the two youths took the sphere from his satchel and presented it before Morvan's eyes.
Seeing that it was merely a diffusion orb, Morvan immediately displayed an indifferent look. After all, it came from an apprentice knight—what more could it reveal?
No, wait. An idea crossed Morvan's mind. Perhaps this orb could help them find other apprentices, thus further facilitating his plans.
He rose from his prayer position and took it from the young man's hands. As he wanted to infuse his mana into the orb to examine it, he noticed a small, hideous worm clinging to it, almost invisible at first glance.
Disgusted, Morvan wanted to discard the worm, but something surprising happened. The worm suddenly detached from the orb and lunged at his arm, burrowing in with terrifying speed. The creature pierced his skin and began to tunnel into his flesh, causing a sharp and sudden pain.
Morvan let out a scream of shock and pain, his eyes widening as he desperately tried to dislodge the intruder to no avail. The worm twisted and burrowed its way under his skin, leaving a bloody trail and a burning sensation in its wake.
Seeing this and fearing thd troubling consequence of allowing the worm to move freely within his body, he made à terrifying yet necessary decision : to amputate his own hand to rid himself of the intruder. His breathing became labored, his gaze hardened, and without hesitation, he grapped the sword at his side and in one swift motion, severed his wrist cleanly
The pain was unbearable, but he watched with a mix of satisfaction and rage as thé worm extracted itself from the gamin wound. Yet, thé creature, furious and hungry, seemed poised to burrow back in.
Refusing to yield to terror, he focused and recited a spell, conjuring a fireball with his remaining hand. He hurled it directly at the worm, hoping to reduce it to ashes. But he didn't stop there. Caught in a frenzy fueled by pain and anger, he continued to conjure and throw fireballs, each more powerful than the last.
Flames raged around him, devastating everything in their path. The walls of the house began to collapse under the relentless assault, and the screams of those present mingled with the shattered debris. Some were injured, others killed, unable to escape the chaos.
Morvan, now a figure of terror amidst the flames, seemed unaffected by the destruction he caused. He kept launching fireballs until the house lay in ruins, consumed by the infernal flames he had unleashed.
Surveying the devastation around him, Morvan felt no hint of guilt, only seething anger. The sight of the charred bodies of the two young men who had brought him that cursed worm only fueled his rage. With evident disdain, he spat on their remains.
He noticed the orb remained intact despite the devastating flames.
Someone entered, coughing, and asked hoarsely, "Mr. Morvan, what happened? Have we been attacked?"
Morvan stared at him for a few seconds, a heavy silence settling in, before averting his gaze and replying, "Yes, but it wasn't the authorities, just an overly ambitious worm."
The man, seeing his boss's injury, mistook the "worm" for a thief. He added, "A thief, then? Sir, we must leave before the authorities come, alerted by all this noise."
"Retrieve as much armor as possible and burn the rest so they find nothing!" ordered Morvan, aware of the urgency of the situation.
The man nodded and headed towards another building, taking a few people with him to carry out the orders.
After casting one last glance at the orb, Morvan carefully stowed it in his satchel. He then set off, attempting to staunch the bleeding from his severed wrist, pain etching his features. But he knew there was no time to waste. Escape was now his only option.
---
Alaric Beaumont walked with measured steps through the boundless forest, enjoying the strange calm that pervaded it. He had used the teleportation circle of the academy to arrive here, where he had already set up an intermediate circle linking the two points. Every step was deliberate, as if he sought not to disturb the tranquility of this mysterious forest.
As he advanced, shivers ran down his spine at the thought of the ancient being that inhabited these woods. It had been a long time since Alaric had felt such fear. The presence of this being, whose existence and intentions he did not understand, weighed heavily on his mind. Only the High Mages of the academy knew this truth, and bearing such a secret was a heavy burden. Though Alaric desired to encounter this creature, deep down he knew he primarily wanted to avoid any confrontation that could turn hostile.
His thoughts wandered as he focused on the mission that brought him here: to find the seer of their academy. This elder, second only to the headmaster in age, had greatly helped solidify the mages' hold over the Kingdom of Lionnes. But his life was nearing its end, and he had chosen to retire far from worldly troubles, in this secluded forest.
Alaric wondered what kind of life the seer now led, isolated from the rest of the world. The old mage had always been a figure of wisdom and power, and it was strange to imagine him living a quiet existence, away from intrigues and responsibilities. Alaric continued to walk, his thoughts oscillating between the mission and the mysterious creature that inhabited these boundless woods.
As he approached the area where the seer resided, Alaric was struck by a sudden change in the landscape. Before him, the forest seemed to die, withered trees reaching their bare branches towards the sky like skeletal figures. Not a blade of grass grew on the ground, which was a barren, gray expanse devoid of life. This desolate sight starkly contrasted with the lush greenery he had traversed earlier.
A shiver of unease ran down Alaric's spine. This dead zone seemed to devour the surrounding vitality like a silent cancer.
Seeing the desolate landscape, the director hurried, his heart tight with worry for his longtime friend. His footsteps echoed in the arid, silent setting until he finally spotted the cabin, its door left wide open.
Without a moment's hesitation, Alaric rushed towards the entrance, refraining from calling out as he knew his friend was mute and wouldn't respond to his calls. He entered the house hastily, where he found a robust-looking man, hair streaked with black and gray, absorbed in a painting with his back turned.
Realizing it wasn't his friend, the director couldn't help but let out a cry tinged with deep menace: "Who are you, and what have you done with the old man who lived here?"
At this sudden noise, the man, until then captivated by the painting unseen by Alaric, turned slowly to face the director.
Upon seeing his face, despite the marks of time that had softened his features, the director felt a wave of anger rise within him, soon followed by growing doubt and disbelief.
He recognized this face, engraved in his memory for over forty years. The eyes, the expression... It was indeed the face of his friend.
"It's... it's..." The director stammered, unable to finish his sentence when something happened, causing his heart to leap in his chest.
"Long time no see, Alaric. You seem surprised. What's the matter?" A teasing voice escaped his friend's mouth.
The director felt dizzy. How had his friend, mute for so long, regained his voice?
Seeing his friend's surprise and realizing he shouldn't tease him further, Sébastien said softly, "Alaric, sit down. I'll tell you what happened."
Without hesitation, Alaric took a seat on a chair near the dining table, curiosity making his heart beat faster than ever.
A few minutes later, Sébastien leaned forward in his chair, his eyes filled with incredulity. His voice broke slightly, his dry throat conveying contained emotion: "I didn't think such a trivial act would offer me one of the greatest opportunities of my life."
The director, Alaric, upon hearing these words, closed his eyes momentarily, trying to contain his growing impatience. But his hand gripping the arm of his chair betrayed an inner restlessness he struggled to contain. He didn't want to calm down, not now. The story Sébastien had told him seemed straight out of ancient tales, perhaps even the legendary tales of Thalor Myradien himself. If it weren't for Sébastien's apparent youthfulness and the fact that this story came from his closest friend, he would have already pounded the table in frustration and left without believing a single word.
It must be said that the Royal Academy of Lionnes had made immense efforts to find a way to extend human life. After centuries of fruitless research, some results had been achieved, but all had ended in the corruption of those involved or their descent into madness.
That's why the academy was in turmoil at the thought of discovering a person from ancient times still alive, hoping to uncover the secret of their exceptional longevity.
As he pondered these thoughts, Alaric abruptly opened his eyes, almost involuntarily hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand. He had been so absorbed in the idea of this prolonged youth his friend seemed to possess that he had neglected to ask for crucial details. Sébastien hadn't specified the physical appearance of this mysterious young man!
The director trembled slightly, his gaze fixed on Sébastien, then asked the crucial question: "Sébastien, can you describe in more detail the appearance of this young man?"
Listening intently, Sébastien had a brief moment of doubt upon hearing this question. Alaric, seeing this hesitation, reassured him confidently: "Don't worry, it's quite possible that we already know this person."
At these words, and knowing the unwavering loyalty and integrity of his best friend, Sébastien nodded with assurance: "He was a young man with somewhat dark eyes, skin of an almost unreal paleness. His long hair gracefully fell over his shoulders, and he wore a robe of deep black adorned with exquisitely fine golden patterns, which instantly amazed me."
"It's him! It's him!" Alaric couldn't contain his joy anymore, ready to leap out of his seat at any moment.
He now had confirmation that this individual indeed held the secret to prolonging life. As a seeker of knowledge, bearer of the hopes of his predecessors on this crucial matter, he couldn't help but feel increasingly excited.
One reason for his excitement was the discovery that this being was accessible and not hostile. This lifted a heavy weight from his heart, although a mountain of challenges still remained.
A white mist enveloped this mysterious person, leaving the director with a feeling of unease. After all, humanity's greatest fear is the unknown.
Trying to calm his tumultuous thoughts, he turned to Sébastien and asked, "So this desolate landscape behind us, it's..."
Sébastien nodded while continuing, "Yes, that's what I assumed too. He 'stole' the vitality of the forest and 'transferred' it to me through pink petals that seemed to come out of nowhere."
He paused before continuing, "Moreover, this spell must be very powerful. I didn't see him whisper an incantation or draw a symbol. In fact, I haven't heard his voice at all since the beginning. It's as if he conjured the spell instantly."
Upon hearing this, the director frowned and stated, "You know that's impossible."
Sébastien nodded and replied, "Yes, but then how do you explain it ?"
The director fell silent, unable to find an answer. After a few seconds, he said, "It seems that ancient times hold far more advantages in our era than we thought, but I fear chaos."
Sébastien listened to these words skeptically, "What do you mean, ancient times?"
The director realized he hadn't yet explained to his friend the origin of this ancient creature. He looked at him and uttered a sentence that widened Sébastien's pupils, "The young man you hosted isn't from this era."