The city of Erud-Nar was a symphony of noise and life, where sprawling bazaars buzzed with traders' cries and the distant chants of priests echoed from atop the towering ziggurats. For the people, this was another evening in their thriving city. But for Kael, a mage apprentice, the world seemed poised on the brink of something extraordinary—and terrible.

Kael hunched over the small desk in his chamber, candlelight flickering across the ancient scroll laid out before him. He'd taken it—illegally—from the Mage Council's Archives. The glyphs on the brittle parchment described a prophecy that most dismissed as legend: The Shadow's Devouring.

Kael's eyes skimmed the words again:

"When the sky bleeds and the earth quakes, the Cursed shall rise, and the Light shall falter. Only through their unity can the Shadow be undone."

The prophecy spoke of a storm that would blacken the skies, a calamity of fire and darkness, and two figures—the Cursed Protector and the Bearer of Light destined to stand against it. Kael didn't know what it meant, but the signs were there. The tremors that had shaken the city for weeks. The strange red clouds that loomed in the distance. And now, the oppressive, suffocating feeling that something was coming.

"Just stories," Kael muttered, echoing his mentor's words. Yet, as he traced the faded glyphs with his finger, the air in his chamber seemed to shift—heavier, colder.

Then it came.

The first tremor rattled the ground, sending books tumbling from the shelves. Kael stood, his chair clattering to the floor. A low rumble echoed through the air, followed by a deafening roar. He rushed to the window, his heart pounding.

On the horizon, the sky was consumed by a storm unlike any he'd ever seen. Black clouds churned, streaked with crimson lightning that crackled and danced like veins of fire. The air smelled of sulfur and ash, and a cold wind swept through the streets below, carrying with it the rising cries of panic.

Kael turned as the door to his chamber burst open. Standing there was Master Eldorath, his silver hair disheveled and his eyes sharp with anger.

"What have you done?" Eldorath demanded, his gaze falling to the scroll on Kael's desk.

Kael frowned, offended by the accusation. "I haven't done anything! This storm—it matches the prophecy! You must have known—"

"Silence!" Eldorath's voice cut through Kael's words. "You've meddled in forces you don't understand. That prophecy was hidden for a reason. You—"

A tremor shook the ground again, more violently this time. Outside, the tallest ziggurat in the city—dedicated to the god of light—began to crumble. Massive stone blocks tumbled to the streets below as people fled in terror.

Eldorath's expression darkened. "Stay here," he ordered. "Do not leave this room."

"But Master, I can help!" Kael protested.

"No!" Eldorath's tone was sharp. "You'll only make things worse." Without another word, he turned and vanished into the chaos, his staff glowing faintly as he strode toward the storm.

Kael stood frozen for a moment, torn between obeying his mentor and the gnawing need for answers. The prophecy wasn't a myth—it was unfolding before his eyes. If the Mage Council had ignored it, then it was up to him to act.

Grabbing the scroll and his satchel, Kael slipped out of the chamber.

The streets were in chaos. People ran in every direction, dodging falling debris as the storm rolled closer. Above, the sky glowed an eerie red, and the air buzzed with unnatural energy. Kael's mind raced as he made his way to the catacombs the ancient tunnels beneath the city. If the prophecy was real, the answers would be hidden there, in the carvings of their ancestors.

The entrance to the catacombs was concealed behind an abandoned temple. Kael slipped through the crumbling archway and descended into the darkness. The air grew colder as he ventured deeper, his magic casting a faint blue glow that illuminated the walls.

The carvings on the walls depicted the history of Erud-Nar, but deeper into the tunnels, the murals became more abstract. Figures of light and shadow battled across the stone, their features worn by time. Kael's breath caught when he found what he was looking for.

A massive mural dominated the wall before him. It depicted a knight clad in black armor, his face hidden by a jagged helm, kneeling before a robed figure surrounded by light. Above them, shadows loomed like clawed hands reaching down from the sky.

Beneath the mural, an inscription read:

"When the sky bleeds and the earth quakes, the Cursed shall rise, and the Light shall falter."

Kael's stomach churned. The "Cursed Protector" and the "Bearer of Light"—they weren't metaphors. They were real.

A sound echoed through the catacombs, low and guttural. Kael turned, his magic flaring instinctively. The shadows on the walls began to writhe, twisting into monstrous forms with hollow, glowing eyes.

One lunged at him. Kael raised his hand, releasing a blast of light that struck the creature, causing it to shriek and dissolve into smoke. But more were forming, their eyeless faces fixed on him.

Kael's instincts screamed at him to run. He turned and sprinted through the tunnels, the shadows pursuing him, their hisses growing louder.

When he finally burst out into the open air, he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. The storm was fully overhead now, crimson lightning tearing through the city. Buildings lay in ruins, and the streets were filled with the cries of the wounded and the terrified.

Kael gripped the scroll tightly, its weight heavier than ever. The prophecy wasn't just real—it was happening. And if the inscription was right, he had to find the Cursed Protector before it was too late.

He stood, his legs trembling but his resolve hardening. "I don't care what Master Eldorath says," Kael muttered. "If the Council won't act, I will."

Tucking the scroll into his satchel, he turned and disappeared into the chaos, the first steps of his journey taken.