The sages stepped into the grand meeting room, their radiant presence filling the space with warmth and serenity. Knights and students seated around the long oak table bowed in reverence, basking in the sages' tranquil energy. Golden light from enchanted lanterns flickered against the high stone walls, illuminating ancient banners that told tales of victories past.
But then, without warning, the room darkened. The sages' forms shimmered and twisted, dissolving into shadows. The comforting glow that had filled the hall vanished, replaced by an eerie chill.
Gasps rippled through the room as three shadowy figures emerged, seated upon black thrones carved from darkness itself. Tendrils of smoke curled around their forms, obscuring their faces.
The first figure leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with malice. "The illusion we've crafted won't last forever," he said coldly. "Soon, the knights and students will start doubting. They'll ask questions—wondering if the sages were ever real."
The second figure, wreathed in shifting shadows, spoke in a hollow voice. "We must fortify the illusion. The Book of Moon Knowledge will make it stronger."
The third figure, his voice echoing like a void between worlds, declared ominously, "But the Moon Book requires power. We will find that power—and we will uncover the Sun Book. When we possess both, no one will know we aren't the true sages."
A sinister grin spread across his face. "We are Phantasos, Phobetor, and Morpheus. The day we killed the sages was the beginning of our plan to reshape this reality."
A Memory of the Woods
The storm outside raged relentlessly, rain hammering against the earth as lightning split the sky.
A lone rider galloped through the downpour, his cloak drenched, desperation etched across his face. Reaching the sages' fortress, he dismounted and stumbled into the hall, falling to his knees before the shadowy figures.
"Please, sages," he begged, his voice trembling. "My village is dying. Strange flowers have spread across the land, turning our people's skin to wood. They're fading fast—only you can save them!"
The youngest sage, still glowing faintly despite the darkness, stepped forward. "We will go," he said firmly.
One of the elder sages hesitated. "Our powers have not yet recovered from the ceremony. We need more time."
"Please!" the man begged, tears mixing with the rain on his face. "If you don't come, my people will die."
The youngest sage placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "We will save your village."
Mounting their horses, the sages and their knights rode into the storm. The rain lashed against them, and the howling wind tore at their cloaks.
Hours passed before they reached the village. What awaited them was silence.
The horses' hooves sank into the rain-soaked earth as the group approached the settlement. Dilapidated huts stood like skeletal remains, their thatched roofs sagging under the weight of the storm. Doors creaked on rusted hinges, swinging open to reveal dark, empty interiors. The fields, once fertile, were overgrown with twisted, blackened plants that swayed unnaturally in the wind.
A knight wrinkled his nose. "There's no life here. Only death."
The desperate man who had led them turned slowly, a sinister smile spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed with malice. "Welcome to hell, sages."
The youngest sage's eyes narrowed. "You deceived us. There's no sickness here. Only lies."
Another sage spoke gravely, his voice steady despite the rising tension. "This was well-planned. The storm weakens our powers, and we're still recovering from the ceremony."
The man laughed, his voice sharp as thunder. "I don't need tricks. I have this!"
From beneath his cloak, he raised a shimmering silver-bound book, its cover pulsating with dark energy—the Book of Moon Knowledge.
The sages' expressions darkened. "The Moon Book..." one whispered.
The youngest sage clenched his fists. "Without the Sun Book, its illusions are unstoppable."
Lightning illuminated the man's face, twisted with triumph. "You should have stayed in your fortress. Now, Phantasos, Phobetor, and Morpheus will reshape this world—and none will remember the sages."
The rain poured harder as the knights drew their swords. Thunder rumbled, and the battle for reality itself was about to begin.
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