In a world brimming with magic, where sorcery isn't merely a source of power but the very essence of daily life, humanity had learned to harness its wonders to work, protect, and thrive. Magic could imbue weapons, transforming them into extraordinary tools. Those who possessed this ability were known as mages. They wielded magic not only as a source of energy but as an art form—a reflection of their spirit and will.
Nestled peacefully in the northwest of the mysterious Montagna Arcanis was the village of Mystveil, a tranquil place I had called home.
"Grandpa, where do you think I should put this flowerpot?" I stepped out of the house, carefully cradling a vibrant pot of flowers, excitement laced with tenderness in my voice.
Underneath the towering ancient tree, sitting by a wooden tea table, was Grandpa Eldros, the esteemed village elder. He gently placed his tea cup down. Though small and slightly hunched from the passage of time, his wise and kind eyes glimmered beneath his silvery hair. Deep lines etched into his face did nothing to diminish the calm and compassionate aura he carried. He turned to me, his deep, soothing voice filling the air.
"Put it by the door, so everyone in the house can enjoy it."
Grandpa Eldros wasn't just a leader; he was a father and mentor to all of us in the village. He raised me with love and care since I was a child, teaching me everything he knew. Yet, unlike the others in Mystveil, I had never been able to use magic.
I placed the flowerpot gently by the door, where the afternoon sun spilled just enough to make the blooms glow with life. My role in the village was to tend the communal garden—planting fruit trees and flowers to decorate each home with vibrant colors. Life in Mystveil was serene, untouched by the march of time. Yet, deep within me, a faint restlessness had begun to stir.
Returning to the wooden bench opposite Grandpa, I sat quietly. He sipped his tea, unfazed by my thoughts. The air between us was calm, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.
"Grandpa," I finally spoke, my voice trembling slightly, "I don't have magic. Why am I so… weak?" I lowered my head, hands clasped tightly in my lap. "If I had magic, I'd be stronger, more confident…"
He placed his cup down, gazing at the ancient tree canopy. For a moment, he didn't speak, simply watching the rustling leaves. Then, in his usual measured tone, he replied:
"You don't need magic to be strong, Vastia. Strength doesn't come from power but from courage. If you have the bravery to protect what you cherish, then you already have the greatest strength of all."
His words hung in the air, heavy with wisdom, yet I couldn't shake my doubt. "But without power… how can I protect those I care about?" I asked, my voice laced with uncertainty.
Grandpa picked up a fallen leaf, twirling it delicately in his fingers. "Do you think this fragile leaf lacks strength? Yet when the wind blows, it soars, crossing distances it never imagined. Not because it's strong, but because it doesn't give up."
He set the leaf on the table, meeting my eyes with his calm yet determined gaze. "You are like that leaf, Vastia. True strength isn't something you search for—it's something you already have. You just haven't realized it yet. Believe in yourself, and one day, you'll discover your own power."
His words ignited a flicker of hope within me—a quiet determination to find the strength to protect him and the people I loved.
"Have you prepared for tonight's festival?" Grandpa asked suddenly, his tone lightening.
"Yes," I replied, managing a smile. "Kael and the others have been busy decorating all morning. I helped them a little earlier."
Our annual Flame Festival, held on December 21st and 22nd, celebrated the gift of fire from the ancient deity Ignaros, symbolizing life and light. The village gathered to ignite a massive bonfire, donning bright red and orange attire and dancing around the flames in joyous celebration.
"Vastia!" A bright voice called out, breaking my reverie.
Turning instinctively, I spotted a familiar figure—a girl in a snow-white dress with long, silky white hair, soft as winter frost.
"Eira, what brings you here?" I asked, rising from my seat.
Eira grabbed my hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Let's wear matching outfits and dance tonight!"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "You always try to get me to dance, don't you? But I'm not good at it, Eira."
Her joyful expression faltered, her eyes dimming. "Oh… never mind, then…" Her voice trailed off, filled with quiet disappointment.
That evening, as stars blanketed the sky, the village came alive with the festival's energy. Music and laughter echoed around the roaring bonfire, casting flickering shadows across smiling faces. I stood silently by the porch, watching from afar.
"Why aren't you joining the festivities?" Grandpa's voice was gentle but concerned as he approached me.
"I'll join later," I replied softly, smiling faintly.
Before he could respond, the ground began to quake. At first, it was a subtle tremor, but soon it grew violent. Panic spread through the crowd as the earth shuddered beneath us.
From the shadows, a colossal figure emerged, shaking the ground with every step. Its enormous body was made of intertwined ancient trees, and at its center, a glowing blue gem pulsed ominously like a beating heart.
Grandpa Eldros froze, his face pale. "Grimroot…" he whispered, his voice trembling.
A legend come to life—a monster of ancient times, sealed away centuries ago, now awakened. I turned to him, alarmed. "Grandpa, what is that thing? Do you know it?"
His gaze remained fixed on the beast, his voice heavy with dread. "It's an ancient creature… sealed by our ancestors. I don't know why it's here, but it mustn't be allowed to destroy the village!"
The ensuing chaos was unlike anything I'd ever witnessed. The villagers, united in their fear, rallied under Grandpa's leadership to fight Grimroot. But their magic barely scratched the surface of its power.
As Grimroot unleashed its fury, Grandpa called for unity. "We must combine our powers!" he urged, his voice strong despite his frailty.
With every ounce of magic they possessed, the villagers launched a final, desperate assault. Together, they summoned a radiant beam of light, striking the beast's heart. Grimroot roared in agony, its body disintegrating into shimmering fragments.
But the victory came at a terrible cost. The magic used to defeat Grimroot was forbidden, draining the life force of every villager. One by one, they began to fade, their forms dissolving into the air.
I clung to Grandpa as he grew weaker. "Why is this happening?!" I cried.
He smiled faintly, placing two magical swords into my hands. "These will guide you, Vastia. Find Nol… she will help you."
As his body disappeared, his final words echoed in the breeze. "Be strong, Vastia. We'll always be with you…"
Alone, with nothing but the swords and a heart heavy with loss, I stood amidst the ruins of Mystveil. Tears dried on my cheeks as the first rays of dawn broke through the horizon.
Clutching the swords, I whispered to myself, "I will protect everyone. I'll make sure this never happens again."
And so, my journey began.