He woke up, a cold sweat down his back, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The vivid images of the fire, the screams, and the sight of his father and sister trapped in the flames were still fresh in his mind, as if the nightmare had followed him into the waking world.
Roan swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet touching the cool wooden floor. He tried to steady his breathing, forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths. It wasn't the first time he had this nightmare, no. Reality was far more cruel, the nightmare reminding him how his family had perished in the fire, how he could do nothing to save them.
A peaceful, quiet village burnt down by heartless hooded figures. The sole survivor; a 15 year old boy.
He glanced toward the small window, the morning dew clinging to the glass. The world outside was quiet, peaceful, a mocking juxtaposition to the rage in his mind.
He was now staying in a little cottage in the outskirts of Magpie Town, closest to his village. The owner was an elderly couple who let him stay in exchange for hunted food, after he left his orphanage.
Roan thought back to those days at the orphanage, just over a year ago. The fire had taken everything from him—his family, his home, his sense of safety—and yet, in the aftermath, he had found a temporary refuge in the care of the orphanage's director. Ms Jones; a kind woman, patient and nurturing, who had done her best to mend his shattered spirit.
He was only 15 when he arrived at the orphanage, after several townsfolk came by to put out the fire. But the inferno had already scorched his heart, severed into his mind, unable to forget what those arsonists had done to his family.
Those years in the orphanage were a blur of bitter training and restless nights. The younger children looked up to him as the "cool" older brother since he was always seen on the grounds practicing swordsmanship, honing his skills, waiting for the day when he could finally leave and seek the justice he craved.
By the time he turned 18, Roan was ready. The director had offered him a place in town, a chance at a normal life, but Roan knew there was no going back. The fire had forged him into something different—someone who could never be content with anything less than vengeance.
On the morning of his departure, the director had tried to persuade him one last time, her eyes filled with worry.
"Roan, you don't have to do this," she had said, her voice soft, coaxing. Roan had always seen her as an aunt and mentor to him."You can stay, build a new life. Your family wouldn't want this for you."
He shook his head stubbornly and replied, "I must find those people, even if it's the last thing I do."
Running a hand through his hair, he tried to push all these thoughts to the side, forcing himself to focus. Wallowing in the past was ineffective. He had to get his revenge, find those bastards that burnt down his village…
Roan pulled on his worn boots, the leather creaking as he tightened the laces. He grabbed his cloak, draping it over his shoulders, and felt the comforting weight of his dagger at his side along with his bow and arrows. It wasn't much, but it would have to do until he found something better. He'd been planning this for weeks now, gathering what little information he could about the men who had attacked his village. The townsfolk from the town near the village had never seen them before, no matter who he asked.
The wooden floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped out of his attic room and into the kitchen. The elderly couple greeted him, Granny Arryn hunched over her congee.
"Oh ho! Up so early, young boy?" She asked, stirring her congee in a wooden bowl. Roan managed a small smile as a response, stepping into the cozy kitchen. The kitchen was a humble space, its wooden beams and rustic furniture giving it a comforting, lived-in feel. The morning light streamed through the small window, casting a soft glow over the room.
"Yes, ma'am," Roan replied, "Couldn't sleep much."
Grandpa Arryn glanced at him over the rim of his cup, like a hawk observing its surroundings. Apparently he used to be Captain Arryn, leading the Lephele Empire's 7th contingent. A warrior forged from steel, settling down with his wife after retirement. Still, his eyes were still fear-invoking. If Roan hadn't experienced the horrors and loss, he would have cowered before him.
Granny Arryn clucked her tongue, her expression softening with sympathy. "Dreams like that don't go away so easily, lad," she said, pushing a bowl of congee toward him. "Eat up. A warm meal always helps."
He shook his head politely, making his way towards the door. "I'm afraid I can't, ma'am. Thank you, but I'll be heading out early today."
"Always having somewhere to go, these youngsters." Grandpa Arryn muttered, his gruff voice accusing Roan. "If you're going out, make sure to go to that bookstore and ask Celria to come back. I hope she didn't forget to buy the bread."
Roan nodded, leaving the house with a final wave. The morning air was refreshing, a perfect balance of wind and sun. The town was just beginning to stir, with the smell of fresh bread wafting through the streets and the sounds of vendors setting up their stalls in the marketplace. Roan trodded along the familiar cobblestone path to the town center.
Roan wasn't really keen on playing errand boy, but he wouldn't dare to oppose the elderly Arryn man, especially since he could put a bullet into his skull easily. Plus, he could find Celria, their granddaughter, bright and early in the morning.
As he walked, Roan couldn't help but notice the buzz of conversation in the town. Small groups of people gathered in hushed circles, their voices low but urgent. It was unusual for so much excitement this early in the day, and Roan's curiosity got the better of him. He slowed his pace, listening in as he passed by.
"Did you hear? The mages from the imperial tower were spotted just outside the village," one woman whispered to her companion, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Aye, I heard they're on some important mission," another man chimed in, his tone a mix of fear and admiration. "Something to do with the old ruins up north. They say that Emperor Theosius himself ordered it."
"Oh hush! Don't speak of The Sun's name so casually!" Another woman snapped, keeping her head low.
Roan frowned, his interest piqued. The mages of the royal tower were known throughout the land for their power and wisdom, but they rarely left the capital unless the situation was dire. Whatever had drawn them here must be serious. He made a mental note to keep his ears open for more information. If the mages were involved, it could mean trouble—or an opportunity.
He continued on his way, the sounds of the marketplace growing louder as he neared the town square. The familiar sight of the bookstore came into view, a small, unassuming building nestled between a bakery and a tailor's shop. The sign above the door was simple, hand-carved, with the words "Montes Tomes" painted in faded gold letters.
Roan pushed the door open, the bell above it tinkling softly as he stepped inside. The smell of old paper and ink greeted him, a scent quite stark to the earthy smell he was used to. The bookstore was a quiet refuge from the bustling streets outside, its shelves lined with books of all shapes and sizes. It was empty, considering how early it was in the morning, only soft whispers coming from the back of the store.
Near a table piled high with new arrivals, Roan spotted Celria. She was engaged in animated conversation with a girl who looked about the same age, her golden hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders as she waved her arms energetically. The other girl, Laena Montes, was the secondary shopkeeper at her the bookstore. Roan had seen her around before, either glued to a book or to Celria's side.
Celria looked up as Roan approached, a bright smile lighting up her face. "Roan! What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice cheerful. Her eyes were a warm blue, like the crystalline oceans near the bay. She swung her arm playfully, bringing him closer. Celria also had a poor sense of spatial awareness, often times unknowingly staying too close to people.
"Grandpa Arryn sent me," Roan replied, standing close enough that he can smell her sweet lavender perfume. "He's worried you've forgotten to buy the bread."
Celria rolled her eyes, pulling him towards her until he could feel her fine curves pressing up against him. "Of course he is. I was just about to head to the bakery after we finish here. Laena and I were discussing some new books that just came in."
Laena glanced up from the book she was holding, her eyes flicking to Roan, her cheeks tinged with pink, before returning to the pages. She was quiet, shy even, but Roan had always found her presence calming. Her personality was a stark contrast to Celria's boisterous nature, the mature one of the friendship.
"Found anything interesting?" Roan asked, nodding toward the pile of books on the table.
Celria grinned, holding up a thick, leather-bound volume. "Oh, definitely. This one's about the history of the royal tower mages. Laena was just telling me about some of the spells they used during the Great War. Fascinating stuff!"
Laena nodded, her voice soft as she spoke. "The mages played a crucial role in protecting the kingdom during that time. Their magic is incredibly powerful, but it's also very dangerous. There are so many stories about what they can do…" Her eyes met Roan's, as she leaned forward. "I know that there's a fairy somewhere in my family line, so the effects of magic is especially potent on me."
"Magic is so fun, and you can harness the power of elements, like ice, wind, fire…" Celria perked up, pointing to notes on the book.
Roan listened, intrigued. The mention of the mages outside the village still lingered in his mind. "Speaking of the mages, I heard they were spotted near the village this morning," he said, keeping his voice low. "Do you know anything about that?"
Celria's eyes widened with interest. "Really? I hadn't heard that. What are they doing here?"
Laena closed the book, thinking. "If the mages are here, it must be something important. They don't leave the capital unless it's urgent. Maybe it's connected to the ruins up north. I've read that there's ancient magic there, something even the mages might be concerned about."
"Well, I've gotta get going." Roan said, glancing at Celria. "Don't forget the bread."
Celria laughed, giving him a playful shove. "I won't, I promise. Thanks for coming to get me, Roan."
Laena offered him a small, shy smile as he turned to leave. "Be careful," she said quietly, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before returning to her book.
*
Roan breezed through the woods, side stepping logs and branches with ease. He knows this forest like the back of his hand, having hunted for fowl and boars too many times to count. He also knows that his forest lead up north, to the ruins that the mages were supposedly headed towards.
Mages from the imperial tower, here, of all places. And the ruins up north—ancient magic that could even concern them? It all seemed too coincidental to ignore.
Roan had heard whispers of the ruins before, old stories passed down through the generations, but he had never paid them much mind. They were just tales, or so he had thought. But if the mages were involved, there had to be more to those stories than mere legend. Could the mages be investigating something related to the fire that had destroyed his village? The thought was a stretch, but he couldn't dismiss it. If there was even a chance that their presence was connected to his past, he had to find out more.
The gnarly trees eventually cleared, sunlight once more seeping through. A small hill stood grand, skeletal remains of some kind of creature lay on the hill. There were pillars and broken stones, but no grand statues.
"So this is the ruins…" he murmured to himself, half expecting an abandoned castle or stone statues. He hid behind the thickest tree trunk, sensing movement from the top of the hill.
Imperial mages, easily recognizable by their silvery and golden robes, moved among the ancient stones, their figures cutting sharp contrasts against the weathered ruins. There were at least a dozen of them, each one deep in concentration as they inspected the area. Their robes shimmered in the dim light filtering through the canopy above, intricate patterns woven into the fabric.
Roan stayed low, his heart pounding in his chest as he observed them from his hiding spot. The mages were casting spells, the area glowing with magical energy. The air around them crackled with power, a tangible force that made the hairs on Roan's arms stand on end.
Roan's mind raced as he watched them work. What were they searching for? And why here, in these forgotten ruins? The presence of so many powerful mages in such a remote location could only mean that something significant was hidden here—something worth protecting or uncovering.
He kept his distance, careful not to make a sound. The mages seemed entirely focused on their task, but Roan knew better than to underestimate them. A single misstep could expose his presence, and he had no doubt that they would not take kindly to an intruder. But being so far away was a disadvantage, since he could not actually see what they were doing.
But something shifted in the air, a sense of foreboding penetrated his heart. Just a second later, the clouds turned a deep, unnatural shade of violet. The sudden change sent a shiver down Roan's spine. He could feel the pressure in the air shift, growing heavier, more oppressive, as though the ruins themselves were coming alive in response to the powerful magic being wielded.
The mages were alarmed, their figures crackling with golden magic. Something was not right, and it wasn't from their own magic. There was something else.
Roan's breath caught in his throat. As he crept nearer, the scene before him became clearer.
He strained to see past the mages, his curiosity battling with the instinct to flee from whatever was being unleashed. He could barely make out a shadowy form taking shape above the stone, coalescing from the swirling light and energy. It was indistinct, like smoke caught in a windless room, but there was a palpable sense of malevolence radiating from it.
A golden circle emerged from the ground, creating a defensive barrier between the imperial mages and the darkness that loomed overhead.
And then, from the depths of the shadows, they appeared.
Dark figures, their robes a deep, sinister black that seemed to absorb the light around them, emerged from the darkness. Their arrival was swift and silent, as if they had been waiting for this exact moment. They moved with a predatory grace, their eyes glowing with a dangerous, dark power that set Roan's nerves on edge. There were at least six, each radiating a palpable aura of danger.
The leader of the imperial mages, an older man with the elaborate robes, stepped forward, his staff raised defensively. "This place is under the jurisdiction of the royal tower," he declared, his voice commanding, though laced with the edge of unease. "Leave now, or face the consequences."
The dark mages did not falter. The one at their forefront, a tall, gaunt figure with hollow cheeks and eyes like burning coals, simply smiled—a cold, cruel expression that sent a chill down Roan's spine. "You've already lost control," the dark mage said, his voice a low, menacing hiss. "That which you sought to contain will now serve a new master."
Before the imperial mages could respond, the dark mages struck. A wave of shadowy magic erupted from their outstretched hands, crashing into the golden defenses of the imperial mages with a thunderous force. The ground shook as the opposing magics clashed, sending shockwaves through the ruins. Roan watched in stunned silence as the battle unfolded before him, the air thick with the scent of ozone and the sound of crackling energy.
The imperial mages fought back fiercely, their golden magic blazing brightly against the encroaching darkness. Spells flew in every direction, bursts of light and shadow colliding in midair, each impact reverberating through the ruins. Roan could feel the intensity of the battle from his hiding spot, the sheer power on display unlike anything he had ever witnessed.
But it was clear that the dark mages had the upper hand. They moved with deadly precision, their magic fueled by something far more sinister and unpredictable. The imperial mages were holding their ground, but barely—each moment saw their defenses weakening, their golden shields flickering as the dark mages pressed their attack.
Roan's gaze darted to the center of the ruins, where a young mage with fiery red hair was battling two entities at once.
A shadowy figure emerged behind her, a ball of dark magic in its hands.
"LOOK OUT—!"