Xarath stood outside the towering gates of the Ellucia estate, the place he had called home for 25 years. The gates loomed over him, their intricate carvings of the family crest now a mocking reminder of the life he had lost. The heavy clank of the gates closing behind him echoed in his ears, sealing his banishment.
For a moment, he simply stood there, gripping the small satchel containing his few belongings. The wind bit at his face, carrying with it the faint sound of laughter from the estate. His sisters, no doubt, celebrating his humiliation.
He took a deep breath and began walking, his feet carrying him down the cobblestone path that led to the nearby village of Arleth.
The Commoners' Scorn
As Xarath entered the village, he felt the weight of every gaze upon him. The whispers began almost immediately, their venomous tone unmistakable.
"Is that the Ellucia heir? The one who couldn't even beat a child?"
"Disgraceful. What a waste of noble blood."
"He doesn't belong here."
Xarath kept his head down, his heart sinking further with every word. He approached the marketplace, hoping to find some work or a morsel of food to keep him going.
"Excuse me," he said to a merchant, his voice quiet but steady. "Do you need help with anything? I can lift, carry, or—"
The merchant cut him off with a sneer. "Help? From you? I don't need a failure tarnishing my business."
Xarath clenched his fists but said nothing, moving on to the next stall. And the next. And the next. Each rejection stung more than the last.
By nightfall, Xarath found himself sitting on the edge of the village square, his stomach growling and his body aching from the day's humiliations. He glanced at the pendant around his neck, the only possession that still held meaning to him.
Mother... what would you say if you could see me now?
The Encounter with His Sisters
Days turned into weeks, and Xarath's situation only grew worse. The villagers refused to trust him, and work was impossible to find. He slept in abandoned alleys, scavenging for scraps to survive. His once-pristine appearance had deteriorated—his clothes were ragged, his face pale and gaunt.
One fateful afternoon, as Xarath wandered through the village, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Well, well. Look who we have here."
He turned to see his sisters—Xia, Ella, and Mai—standing with a group of nobles. Their fine clothing and confident postures were a stark contrast to his disheveled state.
"Xarath," Xia said, her voice dripping with mockery. "How's the common life treating you?"
Ella chuckled, adding, "You look like you belong here now. Fitting, isn't it?"
Xarath's face burned with shame, but he refused to respond.
Mai stepped forward, a smirk on her lips. "You know, it's almost sad. Almost." She tossed a coin onto the ground at his feet. "Why don't you pick that up, brother? It might buy you a crust of bread."
The group laughed, their cruel amusement echoing through the square. Xarath stared at the coin, his pride warring with his desperation. Slowly, he bent down and picked it up, his hands trembling.
"Good boy," Mai said, patting his head as though he were a dog.
As they turned to leave, Xia paused, glancing over her shoulder. "You should thank us, Xarath. We're giving you what you're worth."
Xarath watched them go, his heart heavy with anger and humiliation.
One day, I'll make you regret this.
The Brink of Despair
That night, Xarath sat alone under a crumbling archway, the coin still clutched in his hand. He stared at the sky, the stars obscured by dark clouds.
"Is this all I am now?" he whispered. "A beggar? A failure?"
The weight of his shame and despair pressed down on him, and for the first time, he considered giving up entirely. He reached into his satchel and pulled out the small dagger he had kept since his banishment. The blade glinted faintly in the dim light.
Perhaps it's better this way, he thought, his hands trembling. Better than living like this.
But as he raised the dagger, a voice broke through the silence.
"You look like a man at the end of his rope."
Xarath froze, the blade hovering inches from his wrist. He turned to see a figure emerging from the shadows—a man dressed in dark, flowing robes, his face partially obscured by a hood.
"Who are you?" Xarath asked, his voice hoarse.
"Just a merchant," the man replied, a faint smile on his lips. "And I believe I have something that might interest you."
A New Hope
The merchant knelt beside Xarath, pulling a small vial from his robes. The liquid inside shimmered with an otherworldly light.
"This," the merchant said, holding the vial up, "is a healing elixir. It'll mend your body and give you the strength to start anew."
Xarath's eyes widened. "Why would you give that to me?"
"I wouldn't," the merchant replied. "Not without a price."
"What do you want?"
The merchant leaned in closer, his smile growing wider. "A simple task. Retrieve a book from the Forest of Blackhood Valley. Bring it to me, and not only will you have this elixir, but I'll tell you what you seek most—truths about your mother."
Xarath's breath caught in his throat. "My... mother?"
The merchant nodded. "She was no ordinary woman, Xarath. There's more to your bloodline than you realize. If you want answers, you'll do as I ask."
Xarath stared at the vial, the faint flicker of hope stirring within him. "Where do I find this book?"
The merchant's smile turned cold. "In the tomb at the heart of Blackhood Valley. Be warned—it's not a place for the faint of heart. But then, you've already survived worse, haven't you?"
Xarath clenched his fists, the despair in his heart replaced by determination. I have nothing left to lose.
"I'll do it," he said.
The merchant rose to his feet, his cloak billowing in the wind. "Then your journey begins, Xarath Ellucia. Let's see if you're worthy of the truths you seek."