Jarek Thorn's plan was simple. Steal some gold. Get out fast. Celebrate with an unreasonable amount of ale.

Unfortunately, Jarek was very bad at making plans.

"HEY! THIEF!"

"Ah. So we're doing this now," Jarek muttered as he sprinted through the Grand Temple's marble halls, clutching a small, ancient-looking artifact under his arm. Behind him, a dozen armored priests screamed in fury, waving halberds and casting spells that were far too flashy for comfort.

To be fair, he hadn't meant to steal something this valuable. He had come looking for gold—maybe some fancy goblets, at most. But then there was this weird glowing heart-shaped thing on an altar, and Jarek, being a man of questionable intelligence, had thought:

"That looks expensive. I should take it."

And now it was glued to his hand.

Jarek skidded around a corner and nearly crashed into a robed monk, who yelped and flung his scrolls into the air. He muttered an apology, then kept running, cursing his terrible luck.

"This is what I get for thinking," he groaned.

Behind him, a priest chanted something ominous, and Jarek's survival instincts screamed just in time—he ducked, and a bolt of lightning blasted over his head, scorching the wall.

"Whoa, WHOA! Bit much for a first offense, don't you think?!"

He turned another corner, and ran straight into a dead end.

Jarek skidded to a halt. "Oh. Well. That's unfortunate."

The priests stormed in behind him, blocking the exit. Their leader, a stern-faced woman with silver-trimmed robes, stepped forward.

"You've stolen a sacred relic," she intoned. "Surrender, and we may grant you mercy."

Jarek considered. "What if I said I found it?"

The priestess raised a hand, and the torches lining the hall flared with divine energy. "Surrender, thief."

Jarek sighed. "Fine, fine. I guess there's only one thing left to do." He took a deep breath.

Then he threw himself out the window.

The priests gasped as Jarek plummeted four stories down, screaming something about regretting his choices.

With a loud CRASH, he landed face-first in a cart full of cabbages.

The vendor shrieked. "MY CABBAGES!"

Jarek groaned, rolling onto his back. "Ow."

The priests were shouting from above, but Jarek forced himself up, legs wobbling. He had zero intention of getting executed today. He staggered onto the crowded street and blended into the throng of festival-goers, ignoring the fact that he was covered in cabbage leaves.

The artifact in his hand pulsed.Jarek frowned, looking down.

The Heart of Ruin—a black, crystalline core, no larger than an apple—was now glowing faintly in his palm. His fingers couldn't let go, as if the relic had fused with his skin."Okay," he muttered. "That's not ideal."

Then, a deep, ancient voice rumbled in his mind.

"Worthy vessel… you have awakened me."

Jarek blinked. "Huh?"

"You shall wield untold power… shape the fate of this world… and ascend as my chosen champion!"

Jarek stared.Then he snorted.

"Buddy, I think you picked the wrong guy."

As he laughed, the city guards rounded the corner, spotted him, and blew their warhorns.

Jarek sighed. "Right. Running again."

And so, with a mystical relic bound to his soul, an entire temple after his head, and absolutely no idea what he was doing—Jarek Thorn sprinted off toward the unknown, laughing like a madman.

His legend had begun.