Leeds, in the mid-17th century, was a place where the old and new collided—an expanding market town nestled in the rolling hills of Yorkshire. The cobbled streets bustled with life, with traders haggling over goods and the clatter of horse-drawn carts echoing between timber-framed houses. Towering above it all was St. Peter’s Church, its spires reaching high into the sky, casting long, protective shadows over the town. This was the Leeds that the Daiwik family knew, a city where the wool trade reigned supreme. Farmers, weavers, and merchants gathered weekly in the marketplace, particularly on Saturdays, for the wool auctions that drew people from all over the region. The wool trade was the heartbeat of Leeds, and for the Daiwik family, it was the cornerstone of their prosperity.
However, beneath the lively surface, something mysterious stirred. The recent scars of the English Civil War were still fresh in the minds of many. A sense of unease started to linger around the southern reaches of Leeds, where a small, dense patch of forest hugged the banks of the River Aire as it wound its way behind the town. The woods, stretching from the far south to the west side, seemed to hide a restless energy, their towering oaks and elms draped in a perpetual shroud of mist in the early hours. Those who ventured close spoke of unexplainable sights—shadows darting just beyond vision, strange shapes slipping silently between the trees, and fleeting glimpses of lights that vanished when approached. Such encounters sowed seeds of fear among the townsfolk, particularly those traveling to and from Bowman’s Lane by crossing the bridge leading into Briggate. By nightfall, the uneasy quiet of the woods came alive with eerie sounds—disembodied whispers, the rustle of unseen movements, and the occasional haunting wail carried on the wind.
Merchants and laborers who once used the southern route into town began avoiding it altogether as dusk descended. Rumors spread like wildfire in the Silver Stag Pub—One of the most visited pubs after workhouse, where travellers and merchants started to tell tales about phantom figures that had been seen lingering near the river’s edge, and about muffled cries that had been heard where the water’s surface mirrored the pale light of the moon. Instead of crossing the large and more accessible south bridge after dark, travelers took the longer, safer path eastward, over the Tinible Bridge by St. Peter’s Church. The church itself, with its looming Gothic spires, seemed to offer silent sanctuary, a stark contrast to the foreboding woodlands beyond. For Leeds, caught in the grip of superstition and fear, the woods had become more than a place of nature; they were a boundary, both physical and mystical, separating the known world from the uncanny unknown.
Yet, those who were more attuned to the world—particularly the few who could use magic—sensed a deeper truth lurking beyond the river Aire, into the dense woods.
The Daiwik Estate was a modest yet well-structured expanse of land situated on the western outskirts of Leeds, roughly three kilometers from the town center. Neighboring the quiet flow of the River Aire and bordered to the west by a dense patch of woods, the estate embodied both practicality and quiet charm. It comprised a handful of built structures, like the servants' quarters, a rectangular building where some of the household's attendants lived, though many commuted daily from nearby homes; the small but sturdy stable for the family’s horses; and the compact farmyard, positioned in front of the stable, where hens pecked and the occasional goat wandered. At the rear of the estate, the backyard stretched toward a narrow branch of the River Aire. A small wooden bridge extended from this point, connecting the family’s land to the fringes of the looming forest across the water.
At the heart of the estate stood the Daiwik family home, a robust three-story house crafted from the region’s iconic Yorkshire stone. Its slate roof and modest, narrow windows reflected a practicality born of necessity and pride rather than extravagance. The house, though unassuming compared to the estates of the wealthiest wool merchants in Leeds, spoke of a family rooted in diligence and tradition. Inside, it was comfortably appointed, blending the warmth of a bustling household with a legacy tied to honest wool trading.
Within the once ordinary walls of the Daiwik household, the line between the mundane and the extraordinary had begun to blur. Lucian Daiwik, the youngest of the seven children, had always stood out. After his twelfth birthday in May, strange occurrences began to gather around him, no longer mere coincidences but something undeniably unusual. He referred to them as his little ‘tricks,’ but they were becoming more frequent and increasingly difficult to ignore. His six siblings, particularly Leon and Linda, had witnessed some of these ‘tricks’—flowers blooming at his touch, sudden gusts of wind swirling indoors, and glowing orbs of light appearing at his command. To them, it was a source of fascination and amusement. They treated his strange abilities as if they were nothing more than playful wonders, whenever they were playing alone, they encouraged Lucian to perform them again and again, unaware of the deeper, untamed force behind them. What seemed like innocent fun hid a growing power that none of them truly understood.
Lucian, for his part, had learned to start to hide his tricks, especially when he was at school. He never fully understood them himself, and the growing unease he felt each time he wielded this unknown power made him wary of letting anyone else see, especially because he wasn’t fully in control of them. Only Leon and Linda knew about the tricks, but like Lucian, they had no idea that what they witnessed was actually magic. Lucian kept the true extent of his unknown abilities a secret, starting to suspect that something was different about him in a way that set him apart from the rest of the world. Now Leopold had voiced his own fears and he reckoned his older brother might be right. He wasn’t sure what it meant, being different, but he knew enough to be cautious and keep it a secret.
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Outside the Daiwik estate, the woods unfurled like a tapestry of nature and mystery, dense with towering oaks, thick ashes, and twisting elms. For as long as Lucian could remember, the woods had been a refuge—a place where the air hummed with quiet secrets and where shafts of light danced playfully among the leaves, casting fleeting illusions. He often wandered through the undergrowth alone, drawn by an irresistible pull, as if something old and powerful slumbered beneath the forest floor. Yet recently, the woods had taken on a darker edge. Strange lights flickered at twilight, weaving between the trees like restless spirits, and the very air brimmed with an eerie mist, dense and charged.
The magical community of Leeds, small though it was, had not failed to notice the shift. A ripple of unease spread through them, especially those who dwelled in town, for they could sense it clearly—wild, uncontrolled surges of magic radiating unpredictably from the area, small at first, but growing in frequency and strength. The disturbances did not go unnoticed by the supernatural beings either. Boggarts—Mischievous spirits known for causing chaos often creating havoc in homes or forests, Will-o’-the-Wisps—Mysterious lights that lure travellers off their path, and Black Shuck—A spectral hound associated with disasters and seen as an omen of doom, had been drawn to the edge of the forest, lured by the powerful magical energy emanating from the Daiwik estate. Unseen entities glided through the trees, their presence a harbinger of imbalance. The elders who governed the wizarding council of Leeds in Grovewell’s Magical Plaza were deeply unsettled, for the magic had drawn both creatures of light and darkness, which is quite uncommon—for witches and wizards could only draw magical energy from one of the primordial elements—Light or Dark Magic. Desperate to protect their community, the elders had erected invisible barriers along the outskirts of the woods, wards intended to repel the influx of magical beings. Yet, for all their efforts, the source of the disturbances remained frustratingly beyond their grasp. When the magic lay dormant, it left no trace to pursue, and though the surges were undeniably strong, they revealed no discernible pattern—leaving the council both troubled and powerless to uncover the heart of the growing peril. A danger they could feel swelling in strength, becoming ever more unpredictable with each passing occurrence.
Witches and wizards around Leeds began to feel the presence of that unfamiliar and growing power more frequently, yet none among them could identify its source. Unbeknownst to the elders and practitioners, all the signs pointed to the youngest of the Daiwik family—Lucian—whose magic was rapidly intensifying. Though he remained unaware of the true extent of his abilities, his power stirred beneath the surface, inching closer to full awakening. Tension rippled through the magical society, a quiet unease settling over them as they feared exposure. So far, these strange occurrences had not yet reached the ears of Nullkins - the ordinary townsfolk, but the delicate line separating the magical world from the mundane was growing thinner. It was only a matter of time before the hidden forces lurking in the shadows would breach the wards and bleed into the visible world, threatening to expose the truth.
The Daiwiks, unaware of the magical world hidden beneath their back door, carried on with their daily lives. Lucian’s parents, Thomas and Eleanor Daiwik, chose to ignore the strange occurrences that had begun to plague their estate—like the day the chickens laid stone eggs or the night the birds sang unnaturally loud, their song carrying far into the darkness. They busied themselves with their wool trade and daily chores, their heads turned away from anything that might disrupt the normalcy of their routine.
As Lucian wandered the edges of the woods one late afternoon, he felt the familiar stir of power rising within him, unbidden. He paused, watching the sunlight filter through the trees, casting long shadows on the ground. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the sensation, but it was as if that strange and yet familiar power had a will of its own, slipping through the cracks in his control. A small, glowing orb appeared in his hand, flickering faintly. He quickly looked around to ensure no one was watching, then extinguished the light with a wave of his hand.
Frustration welled up in him. Something was happening—something he couldn’t explain, something he didn’t understand. He could feel it growing inside him, a force that seemed to strengthen with each passing day, each more vivid nightmare. His fingers brushed the raw scrape on his knee, and in that moment, flashes from the dream surged through his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images to fade. When he opened them again, his breath caught in his throat.
There, just between the trees, stood a shape—a hound-like figure, dark and looming, its eyes fixed on him. Lucian’s heart pounded in his chest as he instinctively turned and bolted. His feet pounded against the earth as he raced towards the backyard fence. Once there, he dared a glance back. The figure was gone. Nothing remained except a shimmer, flickering in and out of focus, as if an invisible barrier separated him from whatever had been watching. His gaze darted around the yard—he was alone.
Looking down at his trembling hands, he saw a faint glow pulsing from them. Anger flared inside him, frustration at his inability to control whatever was happening to him. His emotions churned like a tempest, threatening to break free. With a clenched jaw, he turned and marched towards the backdoor, thoughts racing in a whirlwind of confusion and fear.
For the moment, his secrets remained concealed, locked away behind the stone walls of the Daiwik estate. Yet deep within, Lucian knew this would not last. The strange figures, ever-shifting in the nearby woods, had begun to gather since he first performed his ‘tricks,’ and there was a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach—a feeling that something, or perhaps many things, were watching him. Things far beyond his comprehension. And soon, someone would take notice.