Day 108 Year 927 of the New Calendar.
As the luxurious train glided through the velvety night, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the polished tracks created a soothing symphony, punctuated by the gentle whoosh of air as it sliced through the cool evening. Inside, the plush velvet seats cradled guests in opulent comfort, each compartment adorned with shimmering chandeliers and rich mahogany panelling.
Through the large windows, the world outside transformed into a blur of shadowy trees and glistening streams, all bathed in the ethereal glow of a full moon. Its silver light spilt across the landscape, casting a magical glow that danced on the hills and illuminated the distant peaks like a painting come to life.
Inside the luxurious coach of the train, nestled in his first-class compartment, a young mage was preparing for an enchanting night. The sound of the wheels clattering rhythmically against the tracks created a soothing backdrop as he stepped into the compact bathroom.
As he splashed cool water on his face, he glanced up at the mirror, and a striking reflection met his gaze. His features were decently handsome, with strikingly blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires in the soft light. His pitch-black hair, an unusual shade that added an air of mystery, framed his face perfectly.
I am Lucian Fulgur, the newly appointed professor at the prestigious Magic Academy, Oasis School of Sorcery. My life began with a bond that shaped my very essence. I was raised by the legendary arch-mage Balthazar, a figure whose name resonated throughout the realms. To me, he was not just a master but a grandfather—his wisdom and warmth guided me through the intricacies of magic.
His way of teaching me was… well, let's just say it was unique. I still remember the day he threw me off a cliff after teaching me a spell called "Blink." It's a basic form of magic, but incredibly unstable in practice. "You'll never know what you're made of until you're in free fall!" he cackled, watching me tumble. It was crazy—and also exhilarating! That old man certainly was fucked in the head.
Grandpa Balthazar taught me everything he knew about magic, from the spells he invented to the intricate formations he devised. But he didn't stop there. He had a knack for turning mundane lessons into extreme challenges. I'd find myself doing a thousand push-ups just to prove my worth or hunting wild animals with nothing but my bare hands.
There was one time, though, when things got a little too real. I found myself face-to-face with a wild tiger during one of our hunts. Heart racing and adrenaline pumping, I narrowly escaped what felt like certain doom. But it was all part of his method—a way to push my limits and teach me that true magic often lies in the strength of will. Chuckling to myself, I realized that every crazy lesson he threw my way shaped me into the mage I was becoming.
Tragically, Balthazar passed away last year, leaving behind a legacy steeped in enchantment and knowledge. Among his final gifts was a letter, one that would change my life forever. It was an appointment letter from the Oasis School, the continent's foremost academy of magic. The principal, a dear friend of my grandfather, in his letter, assured him that I would be cared for and nurtured in this new chapter of my life. With my heart heavy yet hopeful, I started my journey towards the Magic Academy in the Oasis Express, ready to honour my master's legacy while forging my path. As the Tower Master of the Grey Magic Tower, I stand at the threshold of destiny, prepared to teach, learn and explore the vast world that Grandpa used to talk about.
I stepped out of the bathroom while wiping my hair with a towel and sank into the plush chair at the study table, where a small lamp casts a warm glow over the scattered papers. These documents held a weight far greater than their simple appearance—each one was a fragment of my grandfather's legacy, the research work that he had entrusted to me on his deathbed.
As I rifled through the neatly organized pages, the familiar scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air. My heart ached a little at the thought of him, but I knew this was more than just a task; it was a connection to the wisdom he had shared with me throughout my life. I traced my fingers over the notes and diagrams, each scribble a testament to his brilliance and dedication to the craft.
The lamp's light illuminated intricate sketches of spells and theories, each one sparking a flicker of inspiration within me. I immersed myself in his words, feeling the pulse of magic resonate as I deciphered his thoughts. This was not just about completion; it was about honouring his memory and carrying on his legacy.
As I immersed myself in the papers, something prickled at the edges of my awareness. Mages are attuned to mana, and I felt a disturbance in the air—a chilling, malicious energy that sent shivers down my spine. What is this intense coldness? I wondered, my instincts kicking in.
I closed my eyes and tapped into my mana-sensing abilities, scanning the entire train for the source. It was unmistakable: a dense, malevolent intent was emanating from the back of the train, and it was rapidly closing in on my coach. Strange... it's not directed at me, I mused, curiosity mingling with concern.
Just as the ominous presence seemed to hover right outside my door, it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. I strained to catch a lingering trace of that killing intent, but it had completely dissipated. My heart raced, the hairs on my neck standing on end. What could have caused such an intense surge of darkness? And why had it disappeared so abruptly?
I leaned back in my chair, the papers forgotten, my mind racing with questions. The tranquillity of the train felt deceptive now, as the shadows of mystery crept closer, wrapping around me like a shroud.
Suddenly, a frantic knock echoed outside my compartment door, cutting through the silence. My heart raced as I shot up from my chair, unease creeping over me. I approached the door cautiously, gripping the knob with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. As I turned it and opened the door, I was met by a sight that sent alarm bells ringing in my mind.
A woman in her twenties stood there, gasping and panting, her hair dishevelled and her clothes torn, with streaks of blood staining the fabric as if someone had slashed at her with a sword. My curiosity quickly turned to concern as she looked at me with wide, terrified eyes.
Before I could utter a word, she shoved me inside the compartment with surprising strength, her fear palpable. Pressing me against the wall, she slammed the door shut behind her, eliciting a startled yell from my lips. But before I could ask what was happening, she swiftly covered my mouth with her hand, urgency etched across her face.
At that moment, I felt it again—the same chilling malicious intent, approaching us with swift, heavy footsteps, like an entire army marching toward our location. The atmosphere thickened with tension as we both listened to the footsteps outside the door.
As we both waited for the footsteps to pass by us, I looked at her, an angelic beauty, She was a striking figure, even in her dishevelled state. Her hair, once beautiful and likely styled with care, now tumbled in a wild cascade of dark waves around her face, half-loosened and tangled as if she'd been running for her life. Her skin, pale and flawless under the dirt and smudges, stood in stark contrast to the crimson streaks staining her clothes.
Her face, framed by the chaotic strands of her purple hair, was a blend of raw beauty and desperation. Wide, dark eyes—haunted, deep as shadows—held a mix of fear and intensity, darting around the small compartment as if expecting danger to burst in at any moment. Her lips, slightly parted as she struggled for breath, were trembling yet firm, holding back the terror she must have felt.
As she pressed herself against me, the scent of blood and adrenaline surrounded her like a storm. Despite the chaos, there was a powerful, almost feral strength in her grip, as if sheer will alone kept her standing. Even in her vulnerability, she radiated a fierce, almost dangerous energy, the look in her eyes pleading yet unwavering, making it clear she was no ordinary woman. Whoever she was, whatever had driven her here—it was something more than just fear that guided her desperate actions.
"Who are you?" I whispered, almost to myself, my voice barely audible over the pounding footsteps drawing closer. Her eyes—dark, fathomless—held mine, and I swore I saw something flicker there, something hauntingly familiar, as if she knew me already.
She leaned in close, so close I could feel her breath ghostly against my lips, the scent of blood and adrenaline mingling with something darker, more intoxicating. Her fingers, slick and trembling, tightened on my shirt as if she was about to say something—something that would change everything.
But instead, she just shook her head slowly, a ghost of a smile, broken and enigmatic, curving her bloodstained lips.
"Does it matter?" she murmured, her voice a low, dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. Then, before I could respond, she turned her head slightly, eyes flashing to the door, her expression hardening once more.
And just like that the moment shattered immediately and I thought to myself,
'Who is she...?'
to be continued.....