The day Sumti Zas was born, the Forest of Argentine seemed to hold its breath. The millennial trees, towering and silent, bent slightly, as if to witness the event. In the royal quarters, the queen's agonizing screams reverberated, filling the air with an almost palpable tension. When the cry of a newborn finally pierced the tumult, a strange phenomenon occurred. Wildflowers sprang from the earth, blooming in a sudden and magnificent burst, only to wither just as quickly, their petals falling to dust as if they had borne a weight too great to carry.
Lyssiana, exhausted but with her gaze fixed, watched her son with a mix of fascination and worry.
"He is special," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Beside her, Orandel, the king, observed the infant with caution. The child, incredibly calm, seemed to absorb every detail of his surroundings, a curious gleam already shining in his eyes. But it was not this gaze that troubled Orandel, nor the newborn's serene demeanor. His attention was drawn to the wilted flowers at the foot of the palace.
"This cannot be," he whispered. "We must hide him, Lyssiana. If anyone finds out…"
His voice, tinged with rare fragility, trailed off. Lyssiana, her features drawn but resolute, nodded slowly. She knew her son was different, but she refused to see him as a curse.
The years that followed were marked by strict discipline. The young prince learned the codes of royalty, military strategy, and the arts of combat, each lesson imparted with relentless rigor by Orandel himself. Yet, despite the king's efforts to suppress his son's uniqueness, it could not be entirely concealed.
Deep in the royal forest, far from prying eyes, Zas found sanctuary. Beneath the comforting shade of great oaks and maples, he could momentarily escape the crushing expectations that weighed on him. It was there, at the age of eight, that he made a discovery that would change his life.
A stag lay at his feet, trapped, its glassy eyes frozen in eternal silence. His heart aching, Zas knelt beside the animal, his hands trembling with uncertainty. He recalled the lessons he had learned about the forest's vital energies, those magical currents that connected all living beings. Taking a deep breath, he placed his palms on the stag's flank and murmured:
"Come back… Please."
A gentle green glow emanated from his hands. Nearby roots quivered as if trying to channel their vitality through him. For a fleeting moment, the stag's wounds seemed to close, its muscles relaxing… but the light faded abruptly. The animal remained still.
A wave of despair washed over Zas. Why wasn't it working? A torrent of painful memories surged within him: his father's stern gaze, the impossible expectations, the whispers about him. A dull anger and a deep sense of injustice boiled in his heart. His emotions took over.
An intense heat radiated from his body. Runes etched in his mind instinctively formed, as though they had awaited this precise moment. His hands, now imbued with a dark aura, pressed against the stag once more. The air around him grew frigid, and a mournful gust seemed to sweep through the clearing.
The stag's lifeless eyes snapped open, but they were no longer natural. They glowed with a dark, almost sinister light. The creature, stiff and awkward, slowly rose, its movements betraying an absence of soul. Tears streaming down his cheeks, Zas whispered:
"I saved you…"
But his euphoria quickly evaporated as the stag turned its head toward him. Its gaze, cold and empty, sent a shiver of fear through the young boy. The animal limped away, vanishing into the forest's shadows.
Only much later did Zas understand what he had done. He hadn't healed the stag. He had pulled it back into an unnatural existence, unknowingly brushing against the forbidden realms of necromancy.
The secret was buried deep, but his curiosity grew. Every night, he returned to the forest, exploring his abilities. He made flowers bloom, soothed wandering spirits, and toyed with the limits of his power, convinced his gift was a blessing.
Everything changed the day his elder brother, Verandel, caught him.
"So, this is your little secret?" Verandel mocked. "Playing with death?"
Panicked, Zas tried to calm his brother, explaining that his talents could serve the kingdom. But Verandel, terrified by what he saw as an abomination, exposed him. The next day, Zas was summoned before the royal court.
The grand hall was steeped in oppressive silence. Orandel, standing on his throne, fixed his son with an icy stare.
"Tell them what you've done," he commanded.
The boy, hands clasped and gaze lowered, murmured:
"I… I used magic."
"DEATH MAGIC, YOU TRAITOR!" Verandel shouted.
A murmur rippled through the assembly. The royal druid, an elderly man with a braided beard, stepped forward slowly.
"This boy possesses an affinity for magic. But that's not all. He has dabbled in forbidden arcana… necromancy."
Orandel rose, his features hardened by cold anger.
"You have dishonored our family," he said. "And you have endangered the kingdom's balance."
"But… I only wanted to help…" Zas tried to defend himself.
"My son is no more," the king declared. "Let his name be erased from our history. Let him leave this forest and never return."
Lyssiana broke into sobs, but Orandel remained unmoved. Zas was exiled that day, an indelible mark etched into his soul.
Zas wandered for days, his feet blistered and his spirit weighed down by the betrayal of his own blood. The solitude magnified the pain, and each step seemed to carry him further from the life he had known. At the end of this harrowing journey, he reached the edge of the Forest of the Lost, a place shrouded in legend and fear. Villagers nearby spoke of voracious shadows, invisible curses, and creatures that even sunlight seemed to fear.
For Zas, this place wasn't a danger—it was a refuge. The dense canopy concealed a wild, almost protective kingdom. As he ventured through the gnarled roots, an arrow suddenly whistled through the air, embedding itself inches from his foot. He froze, raising his hands in surrender.
A figure emerged from the shadows, followed by several others. A formidable woman, her hair tied in a wild braid and her arms marked with scars, approached, a sword in one hand and a piercing gaze in the other. Her slightly pointed ears betrayed her half-elven heritage.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" she asked sternly.
Exhausted but resolute, Zas simply replied:
"I'm looking for a place to stay. I mean no harm."
The woman scrutinized him for a long moment, her gaze assessing every detail of this lost child. Finally, she lowered her weapon.
"Follow me. But know this—if you betray our trust, you won't leave here alive."
The community that welcomed him was nestled deep within the forest, where the trees formed a natural dome, like a sanctuary isolated from the world. The outcasts who lived there had transformed the area into a remarkable refuge. Wooden stilted huts rose among the trees, connected by suspended bridges. Every corner of this forest seemed infused with ancient, protective magic.
Zas quickly learned that every member of the clan carried a story marked by rejection and pain. There was Rukan, the half-orc exiled for refusing to partake in a bloody raid. Alarielle, a fallen priestess who had lost her faith and been cast out by her order. Duvann, a gnome inventor whose experiments had inadvertently destroyed his village. And many others, all different, yet united by one simple rule:
"Protect your clan, and your clan will protect you," Nymira, the woman who had taken Zas in, often reminded them.
The young boy earned their trust by proving his worth. He helped build a hut for a newly arrived family, used his magical talents to heal the injured and fertilize crops. Under Nymira's guidance, who became a maternal figure to him, he learned to channel his pain and anger into strength. He not only honed his magical abilities but also developed a resilience that made him a key member of the clan.
The Forest of the Lost became a home, a place where Zas found peace for the first time. But this sanctuary also marked the beginning of encounters that would change his life forever. One day, while fortifying a hut, his gaze met that of a new arrival. Her dark features, regal posture, and eyes burning with defiance revealed her origin. A tiefling. Nilsha.