By: salah hant
Chapter One: The Spark Beneath the Bed
The darkness in Valdar was more than just an absence of light—it carried whispers.
Elara woke to a faint voice echoing in his ears, as if someone were calling to him from the depths of a dream. He opened his eyes slowly, hesitantly, but the voice had already vanished, hiding once more in the shadows.
In his small attic room above the blacksmith Faren's shop, he sat staring at a cracked wooden shelf and the ancient book he kept hidden beneath a loose floorboard. A forbidden book, bound in strange leather. It was said the book wrote itself for those who dared to read it.
He reached out cautiously, pulled the book into the moonlight—and as his fingers touched it, a blue spark flared, illuminating the room for a heartbeat.
"Magic…" he whispered, trembling, staring at his palm where glowing runes flickered briefly, then faded.
He took a deep breath. For weeks now, strange things had begun to happen: fire that lit without fuel, dreams of unfamiliar faces, and sometimes… phantoms watching him from behind the trees.
But tonight was different. Tonight, he had heard the voice clearly.
Beneath his bed, something was waiting—not a rat… but a small wooden box etched with the same runes that had appeared on his hand.
He opened it with trembling fingers and found a burned map inside… and a metal plate engraved with words he could not read. Yet his heart clenched when he saw them.
"The Mirror of Arexxa… the Gate to the Otherworld."
He shut the box quickly, just as the door downstairs slammed open and heavy footsteps began ascending.
"Faren?"
That was not the blacksmith's voice.
—
Chapter Two: Shadows of Truth
The footsteps drew closer—quick, heavy, deliberate.
Elara's heart pounded in his chest. His fingers scrambled to push the small box back under the mattress, but it was too late.
The door burst open.
A tall man stepped inside, clad in a long black coat stitched with strange silver runes. His eyes were like a moonless night—empty, cold.
It was Marcus.
One of the most feared magic hunters in the Kingdom of Lioran.
Marcus scanned the room with calm detachment, then spoke with a thunderous voice:
"I've heard rumors of a boy dabbling in forbidden magic… Is that you?"
Elara stammered, trying to hold his ground:
"I… I don't know what you're talking about."
Marcus smiled faintly, without warmth, and lifted his hand to reveal a metal ring glowing with a crimson symbol—the mark of the Eternal Shadow, the secret order sworn to hunt down all who used magic.
"The Eternal Shadow does not forgive," he said coldly. "Nor does it show mercy. You have one chance: hand over the book and anything else you've found."
Elara's fear clashed with a rising defiance in his chest. He thought of Faren, the blacksmith who raised him, and the flames that danced on his fingers just nights ago. He thought of the map, and the whispering voice in his dream.
He looked Marcus in the eye.
"You'll find nothing here," he said, voice steady.
Marcus narrowed his gaze.
Then, without a word, he turned and shouted a command in a language Elara didn't understand. He descended the stairs, but the sound of armored boots quickly filled the corridor—more men were coming.
No time.
Elara ran to the back of the room, yanked open the narrow window, and leapt into the cold night.
The box was clutched to his chest.
The moonlight washed over him as he landed on the cobblestone alley below. He ran—through shadowed streets and twisting alleys—knowing that from this moment forward… nothing would ever be the same.
—
Chapter Three: An Unexpected Ally
Night had fallen thick and heavy over the dense forest surrounding Valdar. Elara dragged the small box behind him, breath shallow, heart wild with fear. He had no plan—only instinct, and a desperate need to stay ahead of the Eternal Shadow.
The trees whispered in a language older than memory, and every snapping branch made him flinch.
Then, suddenly, the forest fell silent.
A figure stepped from the shadows. Slim, pale, silver-haired. Her eyes shone with quiet intelligence, and in her hand, she carried a staff etched with glowing stones.
"You're Elara," she said softly.
He staggered back, fists raised, but paused as her staff lowered in peace.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Laryel. A banished sorceress. I know what you carry. I've come to help you."
He hesitated. But he saw no threat in her eyes—only sorrow and something like hope.
He followed.
In a hidden grove deep in the woods, she explained the old laws, the broken tower, the Eternal Shadow's obsession with the Mirror.
Days passed.
Laryel taught him how to breathe magic, not just wield it. How to listen to the fire in his blood without letting it consume him. How to sense the whisper of the wind and turn it into protection.
But peace never lasts.
One night, screeches pierced the silence. Eyes blinked from the darkness—creatures with flaming skin and distorted faces.
The Fire Djinn had come.
Elara and Laryel stood back-to-back. Her staff sparked with runes. His hands glowed blue.
The battle began.
—
Chapter Four: Fire in the Forest
The Fire Djinn rushed through the underbrush, their bodies glowing like embers, their snarling mouths spitting flame.
Elara focused, remembering Laryel's teachings. His right hand ignited with arcane fire—not from anger, but focus.
He deflected a fireball, rolled aside, and returned with a burst of blue flame. One of the creatures screamed and vanished in sparks.
Behind him, Laryel called out a wind-spell. Cyclones of air struck the creatures, hurling them into trees.
But they kept coming.
One leapt at Elara, slicing through his coat. Pain burned along his shoulder.
He roared and sent out a shockwave of light. The clearing erupted in magical fire.
When the smoke cleared, the forest was smoldering, the Djinn gone. Elara fell to his knees, panting.
Laryel knelt beside him.
"You did it," she said.
"No," he whispered. "We did."
She smiled, and in that moment, Elara understood: they were no longer fugitives—they were a spark of resistance.
—
Chapter Five: Secrets of the Black Tower
Once Elara recovered, he and Laryel journeyed toward the ruins of the Black Tower—the ancient place where magic was once studied, and where everything fell apart.
The tower loomed on the horizon, broken and leaning. No life grew near it.
Inside, they found dust, shattered glass, and half-burned books. But deep within its central hall, they discovered a sealed stone table.
Laryel chanted, and it opened.
Inside were scrolls, glowing crystals, and a hidden message:
"They tried to harvest the Mirror's power. But they failed. The gate opened. The creatures came. We couldn't stop them."
Elara read it over and over. A sense of dread filled him.
"Is this… what I'm meant to fix?"
Laryel nodded. "Or finish."
Just then, footsteps echoed in the ruins.
They weren't alone.
—
Chapter Six: Voice of the Old Winds
Their journey led them into the Silent Steppes—landscapes lost to maps and ruled by wind. It was said that the winds here spoke with memories.
There, hidden in a crevice of stone, lay the Cave of Forgotten Time.
Inside, they met a man named Karai. Blind, ancient, and waiting.
"I have seen you in my dreams," Karai said to Elara. "You are the bearer of sealed blood."
Karai showed him a memory—a burst of flame, a tower's fall, a man with Elara's eyes laughing in the fire.
"Your father opened the first gate. And he placed a shard of the Mirror inside you."
Elara's heart trembled. "I was born from this?"
"No," Karai said. "You were born for it."
He handed Elara a glowing shard—blue, warm, alive.
"You will need it when you reach the Heart."
And behind them, the wind began to whisper Elara's name.
—
Chapter Seven: Grasp of the Shadow
The skies grew dark over the Ash Valley. Elara and Laryel pressed on, the shard pulsing in Elara's chest.
At an old river crossing, they found Marcus waiting.
His black coat flowed in the wind. Behind him—four armored knights of the Eternal Shadow.
"You've gone too far, Elara," Marcus said.
"We're not stopping," Elara replied.
Marcus smirked. "Then die with secrets."
Battle erupted.
Elara's magic surged—a shield of fire, blasts of energy. Laryel summoned wind storms.
Knights fell.
But one struck Laryel from behind.
Elara screamed. Power exploded from within him, blue fire engulfing the bridge.
When the smoke cleared, only Marcus remained, unharmed.
"You're stronger than we feared," he said. "And that's dangerous."
He vanished into shadows.
Elara knelt beside Laryel, her shoulder bleeding.
"I… I lost control," he whispered.
She smiled weakly. "Not lost. You found what you're capable of."
Elara knew then: this wasn't just survival—it was destiny.