One of the men raised his sword, ready to strike the final blow. ( Chap
But before he could, an arrow flew through the air, piercing the man's chest. He staggered back, his sword falling from his hand as he collapsed to the ground. Arcanos blinked in confusion, his heart racing as more arrows followed, taking down several more of his attackers.In the chaos, a figure emerged from the shadows—swift and lethal. The remaining attackers barely had time to react before the figure was upon them, cutting them down with precision and skill.It was Modred.Arcanos could hardly believe his eyes as his friend fought with a ferocity he hadn't known he possessed. Modred moved like a blur, his sword flashing in the moonlight as he dispatched the last of the attackers.When the final man fell, Modred turned to Arcanos, his chest heaving with the effort of battle."You're lucky I came when I did," he said, his voice steady despite the intensity of the fight.Arcanos, still dazed, could only nod. "I thought... I thought I was done for."Modred wiped the blood from his sword, his expression grim. "There's no time to waste. We need to get to my father. He'll know what to do."
As they trudged through the thick underbrush of the forest, Arcanos's mind whirled with confusion and disbelief. Modred had just saved his life, but the weight of Luna's disappearance hung over him like a storm cloud. His body ached from the beating, but his curiosity overpowered the pain.
He glanced over at Modred, who was walking ahead with an unsettling calmness. There was something off about his demeanour—he wasn't just unshaken by the attack, he seemed… prepared.
"You're not surprised to see me," Arcanos said, his voice edged with suspicion. "How did you know I'd be back so soon?"
Modred slowed his pace and turned to face him. There was a knowing look in his eyes, one that made Arcanos feel like he was being read like an open book. "My father foresaw your return, Arcanos," Modred replied calmly. "He knew the moment you left this morning that something would happen. He saw it in one of his visions."
Arcanos felt a chill run down his spine. He knew Malachi was a powerful warlock, but the idea that he had foreseen the kidnapping of his sister unsettled him. "He saw this?" he repeated, his voice quiet. "He saw Luna being taken?"
Modred nodded, his expression grim. "Yes. After you left, my father told me it was only a matter of time before Valak's forces came for her. He knew they would find you both eventually."
Arcanos clenched his fists, frustration boiling inside him. "If he knew, why didn't you warn me? Why didn't you stop them from taking her?"
Modred's gaze softened, but there was a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "The future is not always something we can change, Arcanos. Sometimes, even knowing what's to come, we are powerless to stop it."
Arcanos wanted to argue, wanted to shout and demand answers, but the truth in Modred's words silenced him. He had always known that Luna and he were living on borrowed time. It was only a matter of when, not if, Valak would come for them. He had hoped that their hiding place in the outskirts would keep them safe, but that hope had been in vain.
"We'll find her," Modred added quietly. "My father will help. He's waiting for us now."
They reached the edge of the clearing where Modred's home sat nestled deep in the forest. The hut was a shadowy, twisted structure, hidden beneath the tangled canopy of trees. Its crooked walls were made of darkened wood, and the roof sloped at unnatural angles, covered in thick moss and overgrown vines. The windows were mere slits, barely letting in any light, and strange symbols were etched into the doorframe, glowing faintly in the twilight.
The air around the hut felt heavy, as though it pulsed with an ancient power. Arcanos felt a shiver of unease as they approached, his senses tingling with the presence of magic.
Modred pushed open the door and gestured for Arcanos to follow him inside. The interior of the hut was dimly lit by flickering candles that lined the shelves and walls. Shelves cluttered with books, vials, and strange artefacts filled the room, while the smell of herbs and incense hung in the air. In the centre of the room sat Malachi, his sightless eyes staring straight ahead, yet somehow piercing through the darkness. His long, greying hair flowed over his shoulders, and his fingers were laced together in his lap. His presence radiated power, though his expression remained serene.
"Father," Modred said quietly, "he's here."
Malachi's head turned slightly towards them, though his unseeing eyes never fully focused. "Arcanos," he said, his voice soft but carrying a weight of wisdom, "I have been expecting you."
Arcanos swallowed the lump in his throat. "Modred told me... you saw it all. Luna... she's gone. Valak's men took her."
Malachi's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence in the room was deafening. "Yes," he finally said, his voice heavy with sadness. "Valak seeks to use her. There is much at stake. Your sister's blood holds a key—a key to unlocking great power. If Valak succeeds, he will plunge Khyronia into chaos."
Arcanos's heart sank. "What do you mean? Why Luna? Why does he want her?"
Malachi's face remained impassive, but there was a sorrow in his sightless eyes that told Arcanos the answer was not simple. "Your family, Arcanos, is of royal lineage. You and Luna are the last heirs to the throne of Khyronia. Valak has sought to control that bloodline for years, to bend it to his will."
Arcanos felt like the ground had been ripped from under him. Royal blood? He and Luna were of noble birth? The revelation hit him like a thunderclap. All his life, they had lived in hiding, never knowing the truth about their lineage. The idea that they were the key to Khyronia's fate felt impossible to grasp.
"You carry within you the power to end Valak's reign," Malachi continued. "But you must be careful. The road ahead is fraught with danger. Valak will not rest until he has both of you under his control."
Arcanos clenched his fists, a mixture of anger and determination surging through him. "Then we have to stop him. We have to save Luna before it's too late."
Malachi's sightless eyes seemed to bore into him. "It will not be easy, Arcanos. Valak is a tyrant who has ruled with an iron fist for years. His magic is powerful, and he commands an army of sorcerers, warlocks, and dark creatures. But there is hope. You are not alone in this fight."
Modred stepped forward, placing a hand on Arcanos's shoulder. "We will help you," he said firmly. "My father and I have been preparing for this moment. We've been gathering allies, people who oppose Valak's rule. You don't have to do this alone."
Arcanos felt a surge of gratitude, but also fear. The weight of what lay ahead was immense, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it. But he couldn't afford to hesitate. Not when Luna's life was at stake.
"Where do we begin?" Arcanos asked, his voice steady.
Malachi's fingers twitched as he stood from his seat, his presence commanding the room. "We must prepare," he said. "There are ancient spells and wards that will protect us from Valak's gaze. But more importantly, you must learn to harness the magic within you, Arcanos. Your power is untapped, raw. If you hope to face Valak and his forces, you must understand the depths of what you carry."
Arcanos nodded, the fear in his chest tempered by a growing resolve. He would not let Luna be lost to Valak's dark ambitions. He would fight, no matter the cost.
As the candles flickered and shadows danced on the walls, the fate of Khyronia hung in the balance, and Arcanos knew that this was only the beginning of a battle far greater than he had ever imagined.
Valak's palace was a dark monolith, a towering structure that loomed over the land of Khyronia like a malignant shadow. Inside its grand halls, fear reigned supreme. The cold stone walls bore the echoes of suffering, and the air was thick with despair. Today, like many days before, the throne room was filled with the broken and the downtrodden—those unfortunate enough to have defied Valak's tyrannical rule.
Valak lounged on his blackened throne, his sharp features contorted in a look of cruel indifference. His icy blue eyes scanned the room as the prisoners were brought in. They were a sorry sight—ragged, beaten, and covered in blood. Their bodies were marred by sores, and their faces were drawn with hunger and fear. The chains that bound them clanked as they were dragged across the stone floor, packed so tightly together that they seemed less like people and more like livestock.
"Who are these miserable fools?" Valak asked lazily, his voice carrying an undertone of menace. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of his throne.
"They have broken your laws, my Lord," one of his guards replied, his head bowed low. "They refused to deliver their tribute. We found them hiding their crops, their earnings... they thought they could escape your decree."
Valak's lip curled in disdain. "Ignorant worms. Have they forgotten what happened to the last village that tried to defy me?"
There had been many decrees since Valak had seized power. He had turned Khyronia into a land of misery and despair, tightening his grip with each passing year. Under his reign, the people had been stripped of nearly all their rights:
The people were forced to surrender a staggering 80% of their harvest, livestock, or any income to the crown, leaving them to starve.
Education was outlawed for the lower classes. Anyone caught teaching their children to read or write was dragged to the palace in chains.
Travel was restricted; no one could leave their village without written permission from Valak's men.
Public gatherings of more than three people were banned, under penalty of death.
Speaking ill of the crown, even in private, was considered treason, and the punishment was always public execution.
Magical abilities, unless sanctioned by Valak himself, were outlawed. Many with even the slightest hint of magical talent were hunted down and imprisoned.
The people of Khyronia had once tried to rise against him in those early years, emboldened by their hunger for freedom. They had marched on the palace with makeshift weapons and hope burning in their hearts. But Valak had snuffed out that flame swiftly and brutally. He unleashed his sorcerers, warlocks, and beasts of the dark realms to crush the rebellion. Thousands were slaughtered, and their bodies were left hanging from the trees as a warning. Since then, no one dared question his rule.
The prisoners cowered before him now, weak and trembling, their spirit long broken. Valak sneered. He enjoyed the sight of their suffering—it amused him. He waved a dismissive hand, and his guards hauled them away. Most would not live to see another day.
Just as the prisoners were being dragged from the room, the doors to the throne room swung open with a heavy groan. In marched Ryker, Valak's eldest son, his tall, commanding presence impossible to miss. His armour gleamed in the dim light, and behind him, his guards followed, dragging a new prisoner—Luna.