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Prologue: The Wall

The Wall of Akshara stood facing the Mountains of Wind, cutting sharply along the edge of a desolate plain. It loomed over the landscape like a slumbering giant from a forgotten age, visible for miles in every direction, its crumbling stones stubbornly resisting the erosion of time.

Legend held the Wall had been erected in the long-lost age when gods still walked the earth, an epoch when magic flowed through the very fabric of the universe. In those ancient times, towering structures rose from the ground, powerful sorcery shaping their colossal forms.

That was before the monsters came, and everything changed.

The Wall stood as a relic of that vanished era, a direct connection to the very creators of the world, a silent monument to their lasting power and mystery.

Travelers who dared venture this far found themselves drawn to it, captivated by the eerie, almost otherworldly force it seemed to exude.

Kamber Spilew had seen many wonders in his years, but nothing like this. Standing close to it, a chill ran down his spine. As his eyes traced the weathered stone stretching far into the horizon, his breathing almost stopped. Mesmerized, his sight seemed glued to the structure.

"I can feel the mystical power," Kamber Spilew mumbled to himself. It was as if invisible waves of energy were penetrating through his entire body.

Gazing upon the enormous barrier, his thoughts drifted, caught in the lanes of memory. He was a boy again, sitting at his grandfather's knee, the crackle of the fire a comforting sound as the old man's voice filled the small room.

"When the monsters came, the old world was destroyed. Everything turned to flames. When the fires stopped burning, a new world started emerging out of the ashes. Yet, the old powers were lost, forgotten and buried. The world was never the same," his grandfather used to tell.

In his grandfather's stories, the Wall had always played a central role. One tale in particular, he kept repeating. That, of a lone dragon that had fought off a legion of monsters threatening the Wall.

Kamber always wondered. Was it only a child's story? Or had it truly come to pass?

In these times, no one could say for certain. Dragons had long ceased to ply the skies, their memory fading, turning into legend, then myth. Many even doubted the very existence of these creatures.

Kamber Spilew was one of those who wanted to believe. There must be at least a bit of truth hidden in the stories. The decayed, primordial ruins he had seen in his travels were proof enough for him.

The man paused, holding his breath as he gazed at the ancient structure before him. While parts had succumbed to the passage of time, much of it was remarkably well-preserved for its age. Could remnants of forgotten magic still be binding it together?

In his thoughts, Kamber recollected some of the details coming from his grandfather's stories. The sights. The battles. The heroes.

"Heroes rose and fell, only to be replaced by new heroes. They flickered, then faded. Only for others to take their place," the old man would say, his voice deep, his eyes looking into the distance.

Heroes are always central to any story. Yet for Kamber, they all seemed a blur. It was rather the places, the immutable and unyielding forms, that stood out.

Where were those "dragon landings" his grandfather always spoke of? He strained to spot them, but the view revealed nothing.

They must lie beyond the Wall, he mused. In the stories, the flying beasts rested there between battles, their massive claws leaving deep marks in the stone that remain to this day.

For a moment, he got lost in his thoughts, imagining how the view must have looked in the old days, when the Wall was serving its purpose, whatever it was.

What glory had this structure witnessed, glory that is now lost to all eternity? Kamber would have traded his entire fortune just to be transported to that time, if only for a few moments.

Then suddenly, the trance ended, just as it had begun. Reality came calling him back. The sight of a lone figure walking in his direction, snapped him out of his daydream.

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Kamber shook his head, forcing his eyes to sharpen on the approaching intruder. Dust swirled up with each step the man took, his feet stirring the powdery ground. In his right hand, he was clutching a small pouch, its contents unknown.

Immediately, Kamber Spilew recalled why he was there. Far from home. After months spent traveling. He almost hadn't made it.

A storm over the Blue Sea had nearly swallowed his ship whole, yet he survived. Disembarking in a sleepy seaport on the coast, he trekked many days through the desolate landscape.

His destination was a trading outpost that hugged the edge of the Wall. Now, he had finally arrived.

The difficulty and constant danger hadn't fazed him. It was all part of the job. A trader goes wherever a profit can be made, no matter the risk or personal sacrifice.

An opportunity had brought him to this location. An opportunity, too good to pass up. Kamber was about to make a deal. The biggest of his lifetime.

Standing there, in the middle of the flat, dusty plain, he saw destiny approaching.

It was not by chance he had picked this exact spot for the meeting. His position gave him a good vantage point. If danger were to come, he would be able to see it from miles away.

It isn't that he were naturally distrustful. It is that he knew he couldn't trust anyone, especially here.

He could now clearly make out the figure approaching. Dressed in rough grey clothes, a scarf wrapped tightly around his head, the man was unmistakably a local miner. As he drew nearer, he raised a hand, revealing the small pouch he carried.

Kamber Spilew nodded, gesturing with his own hand, which held a small purse of coins. "Let's see it," he said, his voice low but firm. "Half now, the rest back in the village."

He added with a sly grin, "And the case of wine, as promised."

The miner chuckled and passed him the pouch. Kamber opened it, inspecting the contents with a quick glance. Satisfied, he tossed the miner his payment.

"Pleasure doing business," Kamber said, pocketing the pouch with a grin that hinted at more than just a simple deal.

The miner smiled again, motioning for the trader to follow him toward the outpost. In the distance, two groups trailed behind, Kamber's men and a leery band of local miners.

Each group eyed the other warily.

One of Kamber's companions, a brown-haired northerner in worn leather, drifted toward the miners. His steps were deliberate, slow, his gaze fixed and threatening.

He halted just a few paces away, his form seemingly larger than life. There was a long silence as he moved his right arm, pointing at the knife strapped to the belt around his hips.

"No funny business," he warned, while staring at the locals. They nodded, as if to say they understood.

That night, after the deal was done, Kamber made a stop at one of the local houses. With the pouch hidden under his clothes, he knocked at the door. An armed man, dressed in all black, opened it and motioned for him to come in.

Upon entering, he was faced with a steep staircase leading to the second floor. Another armed man escorted him up, where two more soldiers were standing guard in front of an entry. One of them swung the door ajar, revealing a room behind. The trader stepped inside.

There, sat the real buyer, the man who had contracted Kamber Spilew.

"Did you get it?" Asked the figure. Dressed in black, a giant hood covering the top part of his head, only a part of his face could be seen. His piercing eyes gave off a faint yellow glow, betraying who he was. A mage.

Kamber swallowed a small sliver of his own spit. His eyes darted nervously around the room, avoiding direct contact. His shoulders tensed, subtly pulling inward as if creating a protective barrier.

A forced smile played on his lips, but the fingers betrayed a nervous fidget. He was standing in front of a wielder of dark powers. It wasn't the first time they had met, but the awkwardness never went away. The hooded man always made him feel a bit nauseous in the stomach.

"Yes, master. It is here," replied Kamber, handing the pouch over to the mage.

"Excellent. The reward is downstairs. You may go," directed the man in black. Not needing to be prodded, the trader quickly rushed down the stairs. The guards closed the door behind him.

Alone in his room, the mage turned to the contents of the pouch. As he opened it, a smile flashed across his face. The inside revealed a giant green crystal.

Taking it out, the mage held it up to the light. It gave off a faint glow. Examining it, he noticed a small sign in the shape of lightning at the bottom.

"Excellent," he repeated.

He placed the crystal on the table, next to a wooden box. Turning his attention to the box, his fingers pushed a button located on the lid. The top opened with a thump, revealing five other crystals inside: red, yellow, orange, white, and black.

A note lay next to them. A spell. By reciting the words, one could unleash the power of the crystals.

"Let's try," the dark mage said. He read it line by line, hoping he had found the key to unimaginable powers.

Nothing happened. Something was missing.

It wasn't hard to figure out what it was. The answer sat at the bottom of the paper. A drawing of a group of crystals. The same exact ones as in the box.

The mage counted seven of them: red, yellow, orange, white, black, green, and blue.

Blue. He was still missing the blue crystal. In order to unlock the spell, he needed to have the complete set.

"Blue," the mage mumbled. "I still need blue."

Mastery of the spell would give him immense powers. He would be able to unleash lightning, shooting down bolts of fire from the sky. No mage has had this ability for thousands of years.

He would be the first man to control lightning since the time the gods walked the lands. He only needed the blue crystal.

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