Prologue - Lone Survivor
Jure’s Domain - The Bastion of Light
Within a grand hall of stone and ivory, two winged figures stood peering into a large, floating orb of pure mana. One was a white-robed woman with flowing green hair - she had a breathtaking and otherworldly beauty that would leave anyone mesmerized. Standing at her side was an old, bearded man with kind eyes and a warm disposition, though his expression was currently one of intense worry. He absentmindedly fiddled with the ring of keys in his hands, and was building up the nerve to speak.
“Goddess Jure,” The bearded man said nervously, “Are you sure about this? He is gifted, but-”
The woman raised her hand, silencing her advisor. Jure had already made up her mind, and there was no turning back. She looked calm, but stared unblinking at the orb in front of her.
On it was a tragic scene. A young man, bloodied and orphaned, crawling towards the darkest corner of a decrepit building. Behind him was a long trail of blood, most of it coming from his mangled left leg and perforated chest. Without medical attention, he would die in minutes.
“Make the preparations, Chavok.” Jure said coldly, her eyes filled with anger - but at what? “He’s the one. The summoning will proceed as planned.”
With a sigh, Chavok bowed and left, his steps echoing in the massive hall.
Jure bit her lip in frustration, upset at what she was about to do. But for the sake of this world and her people, she would make use of anything and anyone at her disposal.
“Sorry, little one.” She whispered. “This selfish goddess will have to burden you.”
* * *
Inside a decrepit building in Boston, Massachusetts
Hi there. Yes, you. Excuse me, but would you listen to my sob story for a while?
I’m not usually one for sentimentality. But when a man is about to die, crawled up pathetically in the corner of an abandoned warehouse, he starts reminiscing. It also helps in ignoring the pain and grief.
Anyway... where to begin. This shitty turn of events was probably inevitable, but that doesn't make me feel any better.
Being a mage used to be great. My fondest memory was back in third grade. Father decided that I was old and responsible enough to learn the basics of mana control, so he set aside the weekend to teach me how to draw in the world’s natural energy - sparse as it may be in this godforsaken age.
It turned out that a weekend wasn’t necessary. Little Ezekiel mastered the concept in just two hours, and my parents were ecstatic at their talented wizard-in-training. That wasn’t a fluke either, since all of their next lessons were similarly easy.
Heh, I became one smug brat back then. The prodigious son of Zacharias and Gretta Hawk, a rising dragon. Many families sent their congratulations, and another famous clan even suggested a future betrothal to their daughter.
Two years later, I was able to form my 1st Circle and cast a basic fireball (almost roasting my older sister Rebecca’s poor cat in the process), earning the right to be formally called a mage - the youngest in centuries. But genius magi don’t count for much when mana itself is dying.
See, Earth isn’t a very hospitable place for magi anymore. Roughly five hundred years ago, the concentration of mana in the air started rapidly diminishing. All spells became much harder to cast. By the time I was born, the oldest “archmages” were only able to master up to the 3rd Circle of Spellcraft - the 4th to 9th Circles completely useless and out of reach without sufficient mana.
In other words, many magi were capable of little more than party tricks. Guns are a hell of a lot deadlier than a slow moving, highly visible fireball, right? So why bother learning magic and passing it on to the next generation at all?
Honor. Tradition. Just because it looks really cool. There were countless justifications for the ancient bloodlines to preserve an obsolete way of life.
But it was the wrong choice. Fucking hell, I wish we had all just burned our tomes and destroyed our artifacts. Maybe then my family would still be alive.
* * *
Keeping magic a secret is impossible in a world with cellphone cameras. All it took was one idiot named Edward Grant to slip up. In a panic, he conjured a wall of earth to stop a speeding car from hitting him, and the tabloids were all over it.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Edward became an unwilling celebrity, and despite his family moving to a different country, the media, conspiracy nutjobs, and other unsavory types stalked them wherever they fled. Too bad his clan wasn’t specialized in illusion magic.
Just last year, he and his family went “missing”. Then the hunt started.
Powerful figures were convinced that us magi were a threat, a goldmine, or both. The Grant clan’s items were a hit on the black market, and people wondered what other goodies we were hiding. And who’s to say that we sorcerers weren’t mind controlling world leaders?
That was impossible, of course. The easiest mind control spell is in the 7th Circle, a distant dream for all of us. But they didn’t know that.
Through torture, blackmail, and worse, they were able to root out the magic wielding clans. Some tried to fight back - but like I said, guns are king in this world with our limited arsenal. They were slaughtered, though the archmages still killed dozens before succumbing. Old geezers were craftier and more powerful than I gave them credit for.
A few others surrendered, desperate enough to believe the sweet lies our hunters spouted. These poor souls were turned into puppets, and many were experimented upon. Magic is inherited, so scientists wanted to figure out what makes us tick.
I, Ezekiel Hawk, and the rest of my family were among those who hid. Governments tried to keep the purge under wraps, but many still learned about it through the Internet. People sympathetic to the mages’ plight sheltered us, so for several months we managed to survive. The constant pressure was good for my studies too, and I became a 2nd Circle mage at the age of 20.
The life of a fugitive was both terrifying and monotonous. I spent my days learning magic and sparring with my father to hone my swordsmanship as well. Why would a mage pick up a blade? Because every famous mage clan has a secret art, and ours was
But three days ago, they finally came.
My father went out like a goddamn badass. I’ve never seen him get angry before, but the moment those bastards kicked down the door, he showed them how scary a papa wolf can be. A raging inferno in human form, dad left nothing of their vanguard but ash. I'll never forget the sight of his halberd cleaving through their body armor with almost no resistance.
There were too many, though, and the Hawk clan specialized in close combat. We were surrounded. While dad charged at them with his flaming halberd to draw their attention, mom rushed me and Rebecca through the pre-planned escape route - not allowing us to die with our old man.
In the end, it only let us live miserably for a few more days. Mom was killed by a sniper several hours ago, causing me and my big sis to go berserk. We slaughtered our way past the grunts, ignoring the bullet wounds, before Becca managed to cut off the offending marksman’s head with a sweep of her lightning-imbued axe.
She collapsed soon afterwards from her injuries, and here I am. Alone, half-dead, and rambling to some non-existent person in my head. Right now I’m clutching a bag filled with our family’s heirlooms - magical items and a few tomes that contain the most powerful spells we possessed. Although we had lost almost everything during the escape, these five spellbooks were our real foundation.
Priceless treasures to any mage clan before, but worthless junk in this situation. Still, I could sense my family's lingering presence on them, so I hugged the bag close to comfort myself. I want to take at least one more of those masked assholes with me, but my pitiful mana reserves are spent.
Footsteps outside; I think that’s them. These thugs won't even give me time to feel sorry for myself. Guess this is it then. Mom, dad, sis… I’ll see you soon.
* * *
As I closed my eyes, however, a blinding light enveloped my body. What is this, are the sick bastards shining a spotlight on me? Teasing their prey before filling me with lead?
Those ridiculous thoughts disappeared as soon as I opened my eyes.
The dirty cement floor I was sprawled out on had been replaced by one made of spotless marble. On both sides of the hall were tall pillars like those of the Acropolis, wrapped in flowering vines that seemed to burst with vitality and life. Gorgeous statues, a jewel encrusted fountain...
I looked in front of me, and found myself struck dumb.
A goddess. That was the only way to describe her.
She was smiling, her green eyes filled with compassion. Her hair was the same color, except for a small streak of chestnut brown locks along the right side. She was dressed in robes of pure white, and I noticed an intricately designed silver lance in her right hand.
Majestic wings stretched out of her back, and oddly enough, there were small wings attached to her circular hat as well. Around her waist was a golden ornate belt, dangling a chain that had a large, blood red ruby in the center - I could sense immense magic surrounding the gem, a maelstrom of mana that could probably level a city with ease if used in the right spell.
“How are you feeling?” She asked me, her gentle voice snapping me out of my reverie.
I finally noticed that my wounds had completely disappeared, and even my clothes were mended. The bag containing the Hawk clan’s treasures was beside me too, but I cared little for that right now. My mind was still in turmoil.
“Alive. I’ve had better days, though.” I replied, getting to my feet. “Did you save me?”
She nodded. “In a manner of speaking. My name is Jure, the Goddess of Light and Healing.” Huh, guess that explains how I’m completely fixed up. “This must be quite a shock for you, but please listen to what I have to say. There is something I would like to request of you.”
By this point, my brain was finally up to speed. Mages are a very adaptable lot - things like deities and ghosts can’t really phase someone who studies the arcane. I was surprised, but I had already accepted what was happening as reality. However, alarm bells were ringing inside my head: what kind of favor would a goddess need?
“I’m not exactly sure what I can help you with,” I said, shrugging in resignation. “This one is a mage who has barely mastered the 2nd Circle, as you are probably aware. But do tell. I’ll listen to the details.”
Not like I had a choice. Besides, I quite literally owed her my life, so listening is the least I can do.
Jure took a deep breath, and looked straight into my eyes. Then she spoke.
“Ezekiel Hawk, last sorcerer of Earth, I need you to kill a god. My counterpart, Galros - the corrupted deity of chaos and death.”
...Knew it. Goddesses are nothing but trouble.