In a land surrounded by a dark mist, an ivory tower stood tall. It’s unusual shape seemed to defy the rules of reality. Gravity had no effect on it, so it seemed, as the tower was too thin, and too tall. Had there been storms, it would surely topple over.
Four people, strongest of their generation climbed the ivory tower, fighting through the guardians placed by ancient sorcerers. Golems and skeletal giants with strength beyond imagination blocked their path, but they seemed unfazed by these challengers.
The group of three humans and a Duskborn slowly made their way to the peak of the ivory tower, braving the many challenges. Even if they failed now, the knowledge they gain would have been vast – they could return home without remorse. But they wouldn’t, as all of them were here for one purpose alone – ascension.
The gilded ivory heavy doors creaked open slowly, with painful screeches that indicate that none had stepped foot here in centuries, if not millennia. A cool, almost ethereal wind breezed as they stepped through the gates atop the spiral staircase.
They had reached the peak – the top of the ivory tower, of the Spire of Kindling that sustained all life. As they stepped onto the terrace, they couldn’t hold back their astonishment. There were no guardrails, no magical barriers to block their sight.
The lands stretched far and wide. The Land of the Duskborn was just beyond the crimson sands of the Scorched Desert. Beyond those lands, the Empire’s green, lush forests, and fertile lands could be seen. And in the far beyond, the Wall, dark and menacing.
“Unbelievable,” A young woman whispered, she held her staff in both hands, her golden hair flowing freely to her back softly swayed with the ethereal breeze. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with amazement as she stepped closer to the edge.
The other girl in the group, a woman with the features of foreign lands caught her arm. Her sharp features made her seem older and more mature, while her height made her seem much younger, and caused many to mistake her for a teenager. “It’s quite a sight,” Her cold voice didn’t have a drop of excitement, a hint of wonder in it. “Beware, lest the view beguile you to walk off the Spire.”
The two men also paused to glance towards the distant lands, and the breath taking view, but they soon turned their attention to the object at the centre of the circular terrace – a pedestal, housing a single, palm sized orb.
“Is that it?” The human asked, his voice but a whisper as he approached the orb, his hand reaching for it without a second thought.
“Touch nothing!” The woman snapped with hostility in her voice. Her short, raven black hair brushed against her cheek as her volatile gaze turned towards the armoured man. “Have you learned naught?!” She hissed.
Amongst the three humans was an odd Duskborn – a tall man with broad shoulders, and a pale, inhuman complexion. His eyes shone a bright purple, much like the flames of Dark Magic, and his pure-white hair flowed behind him like a waterfall. Two elegant horns rose from his head, and a two-meter long tail followed behind him. He was silent as usual, his gaze locked onto the orb just like that of the armoured man.
He then turned his attention beyond the orb.
There were stairs on the other side of the terrace, leading to a tall, wide door. A gate, created from an unusual, dark coloured metal. Embossed with numerous symbols, the gate was closed shut, and all four of the intruders could sense the powerful forces keeping that gate closed.
There was a small cavity at the centre of the gate, right where the two wings connected. It was just large enough for a small human’s fist to fit.
The Duskborn’s gaze turned to the orb on the pedestal.
Or that orb.
“It’s a key,” He whispered, pronouncing the human tongue in a weird tone. He spoke slowly, like he wasn’t used to speaking it.
He approached the orb with hesitant steps.
“Cruel,” He commented as his gaze turned from the orb to the gate, then back. “So very cruel.”
The humans gathered around him. “I don’t understand,” The blonde priestess muttered. “We must have missed something, there must be another orb, it-“
The Duskborn shook his head. “We searched every nook and cranny, every step along the way we sought for a key to ascension.” Had it been there, they would have found it. His shoulders dropped as the orb remained right in front of him. Even now, it was so far out of his reach. He breathed out a long sigh, full of sorrow as he grieved what could have been. “I can-“
A sharp pain struck his back, then pierced his chest, sending his mind into disarray as he stumbled backwards. “I can’t let you,” He heard that cold voice whisper as his world was enveloped in darkness. He fell, his blood stained the ivory floor of the tower.
“I couldn’t let him drown the world in darkness,” She hissed, her spear in hand. Blood dripped from the dark coloured spear’s tip to the ground, breaking the silence that settled after she spoke. Her defiant gaze, full of determination challenged the other humans. “I won’t let any of you condemn the whole world to death, just to satisfy you own greed!”
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Under a dark, starless dome stretched the vast, bountiful lands of The Empire of Parth-Ilathar. Ancient forests, fertile fields, and towering mountains made up the lands of the empire of humankind, bordering the dark lands of the Duskborn demons to the north, and the Wall to the east, south, and west.
The capital city, Bhaile-Morn stood tall at the centremost part of the Empire. Vast fields of moss hugged the grand city from the south, while a stone road lead through the Howling Valley to its north. The west of the city was covered in a deep, dark forest that was the birthplace of many horror tales, and to the east, villages and fertile farmlands stretched all the way to the distant hills.
Down south, a narrow, much less used stone road led through the cold, dark fields covered in moss, where the light of the Spire of Kindling could no longer touch. It snaked between hills, passed through a forest, eventually reaching a brighter land dotted with villages and farms.
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These far edges of the Empire were rarely visited by anyone but travelling merchants, and soldiers who were only there to collect tributes to their noble masters. As such, the roads leading there were overgrown with grass in places where the light of the Spire reached. The places that remained dark had moss growing on the stone slabs forming the wide road.
Once every five years, a small group of Imperial soldiers and a Bestower travelled to these rarely visited villages and towns. It was such a day in the small town of Serna.
A group of lightly armoured men and women entered the small town square. Amongst them stood a tall man who had the gaze of a hawk. His long, onyx hair was tied loosely, and blowed softly with the cold spring breeze. He wore simple crimson robes, and carried with him a wooden staff, embossed with golden runes. His dark green eyes scoured his surroundings, and soon his lips curled down with a frown.
A round flowerbed decorated the town square, filled with dull white flowers that were almost overrun by weeds. Only a few people were out and about, and they seemed to be in a hurry to leave the town square.
The robed man pursed his lips. “Gather the children and the young.” He ordered his entourage. “And you,” He pointed at one of his men, “Inform the Baron that I have arrived. He is to be here during the Selection.”
“Yes, Bestower Hawken!” The soldiers saluted him, then scattered in groups of two. They were used to this, as was he. These villages and towns always feared them. They feared the authority of the Emperor, as to them it only meant they may lose their children.
Bestower Victor Hawken clenched his fingers around the gold embossed staff, and waited patiently as small crowds began to gather around the town square. Children and their families were gently but firmly guided here while onlookers without children gathered of their own accord.
Victor let out a silent sigh as he watched them huddle together. Mothers hugged their children, husbands tried to comfort their wives, and the children simply looked on, more confused than frightened. They were barely old enough to understand, and if they did understand, they would feel excitement, not fear. This was their chance at a different life.
Soon, all the children of the town had gathered before him, separated from their families. “Come to me one by one,” He gently urged them as he crouched, lowering himself to the same height as these kids. “Fear not, I mean no harm.”
“Liar!” Someone shouted from the crowd of parents and onlookers. Victor ignored the man’s voice and offered his hand to the nearest child – a girl perhaps eleven years of age. Her brown eyes widened as she clenched her patchwork dress. “Come on, I won’t hurt you.”
The girl hesitantly stepped forward. “What’s your name?” Victor asked as he took her tiny hand. “Amelia,” She replied meekly. Her large eyes focused on the glittering gold embossed in his staff.
He led her hand to the grey orb the size of a closed fist placed atop the staff, held there by thin golden wires. When Amelia’s palm pressed against the orb, the golden runes lit up. Victor watched the orb for a few seconds, waiting for it to light up with any colour as well, but it remained dark and lifeless.
“Thank you,” He said, softly pulling her hand away, and giving her a piece of chocolate. “You can go back to your family now.”
The girl nodded, then ran to her crying mother without a worry in the world. Victor let out a sigh, then called for the next kid. One by one, he summoned them, had them place their hands on the dark orb, and hoped it would light up. He hoped but didn’t expect to find even one person with any innate mana, much less any sensitivity to magic.
One by one, things happened just as he expected, and the crowd began to disperse as the families whose children returned rushed back to their homes, away from him and his men. They acted as if he were the devil, here to take their children away from him. With annoyance, he called the next person, a ten year old girl dressed in a silken dress, wearing jewellery of gold and jade.
“What is your name?” He asked, not paying much attention at her rather pompous attitude as she gave him her hand.
“Mirabella,” She said, raising her chin with pride. “Mirabella Johanna Lo’Harkon.”
“Mirabella, please press your hand here,” Victor said, keeping himself from rolling his eyes. She was the daughter of the Baron, clearly. Her attitude was quite over-the-top, and so was her name. And so was the way she moved, as she made a whole theatrical motion before finally putting her hand against the orb.
The golden runes lit up, and a moment later, so did the orb. It was quite a dim light – a soft green that was hard to notice at first.
“Very well,” Victor pulled the staff away from Mirabella’s hand, feeling more than a little annoyed. “You have a mild aptitude for magic. At the age of twenty, you shall travel to the capital to join the High Tower Academy as a student of the noble class.” He touched the back of her hand. Crimson colour dyed the air around him – a colour only he and those with potential could see. A red mark appeared where he touched. “When this lights up, you shall travel.”
He watched her return to her ward – the caretaker who probably parented her while her real family was busy with administrative work. Or ‘administrative work’. Victor wasn’t quite sure which one, though he hoped it was not the latter.
The next few children also showed no potential. Once again, he thought as the last child approached, it was only the nobles who showed any potential at all. The others were simply victims of circumstance…
“Your name?” He absentmindedly asked the young boy no older than ten years old as he turned his gaze to him. He quickly recoiled, seeing the dark, purple bruise around the boy’s cheek. He was thin and slender, clearly not fed very well. His blonde hair was long and messy, and his pale skin was filled with bruises and scars of old wounds. No, not blonde hair – golden hair. Victor barely kept himself composed.
“Ash.” The child whispered, then quickly glanced over his shoulder. “Sir… what was the red light around you?” He meekly asked with that same breath.
Victor almost couldn’t keep his expression neutral. He took the child’s hand. There were callouses in his palm and at his fingertips. “The red colour you saw is called ‘mana’, he explained as he pressed the child’s hand against the orb. Seeing his confused expression, he felt the urge to explain. “It’s my magical power.” He clarified. “How well did you see it?” He then asked as the runes lit up.
“It was all around you,” Ash described with his bright blue eyes wide open. “Concentrated here,” He touched the area below his chest, above his abdomen – the exact centre of the body. “… and here,” He wiggled his fingers.
Victor’s eyes widened. “You saw all that at a glance?” It was unbelievable – such detailed description of his magic, he even knew where his mana heart was located. Before the child could answer, the orb lit up.
It remained grey in colour but shone brightly. Brighter than Victor had seen in a long, long time. Then, the bright light shining from the orb began to liquify, filling the orb one drop at a time. “You-“ Victor stopped himself. He watched as the grey liquid filled about one tenth of the orb. He then turned his gaze back to the child called Ash. “You have great potential. In ten years, I or another Bestower will arrive to take you to the High Tower Academy-“
Two small hands gripped his cloak. “Ten years!” The child muttered wide eyed. “I want to leave now, please!”
Victor gently freed his cloak from the child’s hands, only for his fingers to be gripped next. “Please!” The child pleaded. His bright blue eyes were wet. “Please, I don’t want to go home…” His voice was but a whisper, a whisper that struck Victor’s heart like an arrow.
He noticed the soldiers he travelled with slowly move towards the entrance to the town square. A small commotion was taking place there, a man with a deep and loud voice was shouting something. “Please!” The child begged. “Or dad will… he won’t let me!”
Victor bit his lips. He couldn’t take the child with him. If only he could… but Imperial law forbade it under the pretence of equal opportunities for all. A Bestower’s favour wasn’t supposed to give a child an advantage over others, the Emperor had decreed.
He couldn’t take the child with him, but he could try to give him a chance.
“Give me your hand,” He said, marking the back of the child’s hand with a crimson sigil. “When this glows, prepare to leave. Someone will have come for you.” He promised. “And show me, where is your father?”