Chapter One 

Lights in the Dark

Wonder is dead and we have killed it.

Perhaps a touch dramatic, yet it suits me. 

And such is the truth.

Our world has been mapped and charted to completion. Nations have drawn precise borders that no one has dared to test in centuries. Kraken, sea serpents, and dragons have all been declared nothing more than myth. Ancient swords that once forged empires now gather dust atop the hearths of witless aristocrats, of whom none are any more noble than the common ass. 

Even magic now lies dormant in our world. Of what little remains, scholars have declared to be nothing more than phenomena easily explained by the fundamental laws of nature.

Utter rubbish.

Wonder is dead and we have killed it. 

But this was not always so. 

There once was a time when maps were mere guesswork. A time when we feared monsters that rose from the deep or breathed fiery death from their maws. A time when mighty swords were properly watered in the blood of enemies and their legacies blossomed in the grim grips of heroes and tyrants. 

And there once was a time when magic thrummed in the very air of our world, so thick you could breathe it in. 

Once upon a time, wonder thrived and we loved it.

In an era long lost, grand names such as Stormbringer, the Bright Queen, Reaper, Fearmore, and Fang forged the world in their very image. Across the land, love and sorrow battled, peace and war bickered, and wonder ruled high above all. 

Take care, brave reader. The wonder I once more stoke into our world with these very words is feeble. Starved of attention. It deserves proper nurturing. Hearts filled with passion. With magic. 

As an ancient legend of an age long past unfolds before us, I offer a final warning to those who dare brave the waters ahead. 

Do not be the end.

Without further delay, I present to thee a world of wonder.

- Message inscribed within the first page of an untitled book

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Darkness coated the city like a blanket.

Narrow streets and alleys twisted and turned through the sprawl like veins coursing through a colossal beast of stone. By day, long caravans of goods hauled from the port slogged through the throngs that crowded the streets. From cool, shaded stalls out of the sun's burning rays, tradesmen hawked their craftsmanship to any and all passersby. Looking on from the shadows of alleyways, the guardsmen of the watch lorded over it all at every twist and bend, steely eyes ever on the lookout for trouble. 

Now, under a dim crescent moon, the last caravan and tradesmen had long since retired from the streets and the last tavern hearthfire had long ago been stamped out. The veins of Oceanholm pulsed no more with life and the island city slept quietly in the dark. 

Yet, there was a strangeness to this night. 

To the north of the city, within the diamond district, a ball of light burst into existence. Even stranger, the light began to move, weaving its way through the veins of Oceanholm and growing ever larger by the moment. Indeed, this was no ordinary light. This was the fire of a hunt.

Thrice-cursed watchmen!  

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Pounding footsteps echoed through the streets as a pair of shadows sprinted through the darkness. At their heels, only a few twists and turns behind, the fires and shouts of a watchmen mob hounded their every step. Ahead, a fork in the road appeared. Yet the shadows had already taken several similar forks and alleys at random and still the watchmen dogged them.

No mundane tracker could do this . . .

“They must have a thrice-cursed hounder on us,” one of the shadows panted, breaking the silence of the hunted. The second shadow slid to a stop before the fork, slender chest heaving as the first followed suit. “We need a new plan, Eliz.”

“I know, Hart!” Eliz growled, tossing back her hood to reveal fiery green eyes.

“We need to split up, force the hounder to pick a target,” Hart continued, pushing his own hood back and yanking off his gloves in frustration. Too thrice-cursed tight anyways. “It’s the only way.”

“I said I know!” Eliz hissed. Behind the pair, the shouting and torchlight were steadily growing closer. “Okay, okay. You’re right. Give me the gem and we’ll split. I go left and you go right.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Hart exclaimed, backing away with an arm protectively around the satchel at his hip. “Why do you get the gem? I’m the one who stole the thrice-cursed thing.”

Eliz stepped forward, poking Hart hard in the chest. “And I’m the one with the buyer. I’m the only crook in all of Horizon who can move that shiny rock and not get pinched. That’s why.”

“Gods and demons, Eliz,” Hart cursed. The shouts and approaching torchlights were close now, just around the bend. No time to argue. “Fine!”

Thrice-cursed stubborn mainlander! Hart swore to himself as he fumbled for the gem that he had risked life and limb for. After several excruciatingly long seconds, his bare hand at last closed around the sapphire and he pulled it free of the satchel.

  “You better not get caught or . . . ” Hart trailed off as the sapphire in his hand began to pulse with a strange, ethereal light and a numb tingling started to spread through his fingers. “What in the . . . ” 

Hart and Eliz watched in quiet awe as blue ghostlight began to seep into his hand, glowing brilliantly in the dark as it slowly traveled up his body, sliding from his hand, through his arm, across his chest, before finally coming to rest upon his heart. The light pulsed one final time before vanishing from sight.

Above, dark clouds rolled in from the distant horizon, blotting out the dim moon and starlight as thunder rumbled ominously. Rain began to fall from the sudden cloud cover, fat and heavy as it splashed against the cobblestones. A low, crooning wind picked up, blowing through the street with a strange coldness that seeped into Hart’s body.

“What just happened?” Hart demanded, staring fearfully at his chest where the light had disappeared. A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over him and Hart sunk slowly to his knees. “Gods and demons . . . ”

“No!” Eliz shrieked, shaking Hart’s shoulder. “Get up, Hart! We need to go, now!”

“I don’t feel so good . . . ” Hart mumbled, his lips going numb as he crumpled to the ground. A deep, aching pain seared deep within him, right where the light had last pulsed, burning his heart with such agony it felt as if a boulder was pressing down upon his chest. What’s happening to me?!

Pounding footsteps burst free from around the bend behind them and excited shouts rose over the rumble of thunder as the watchmen finally came into sight of their prey.

“Oh, by the gods!” Eliz swore. Without further hesitation, the slender thief yanked the gem from Hart’s grasp and swirled away into the night, abandoning Hart to the wolves.

Through the fog of his pain, Hart heard the approaching watchmen slow to a stop and encircle his slumped form. Fighting with all of his heart, Hart managed to open his eyes in time to see a stooped figure wearing the white of a shaman push their way through the crowded watchmen. Hidden within the deep cowl, Hart saw only shadows of the face that sneered down upon him.

Hounder.

“Well, well,” the shaman’s voice creaked eerily from the shadows. “Stabbed in the back, eh? Left to die while your partner makes off with all of the glory? Such a shame. There truly is no honor amongst thieves.” The shaman paused to shake its head theatrically, much to the amusement of the gathered watchmen. “So, thief, do you have any last words?”

Hart tried to open his mouth, tried to say something, anything. Yet the agony that gripped him was too much and he slumped back to the ground in defeat.

“Fair enough,” the shaman chuckled darkly. “I can respect a silent man. I’ll make this quick.”

The shaman cocked a fist back to cheers from the gathered watchmen and soon enough, Hart sunk away into painless oblivion.