The Hithall Legacy

The night was cool, with little wind, and the chirping of crickets filled the air as the evening deepened. The stars hung like scattered diamonds above a quaint little house on the outskirts of Evoria. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, filled with smiles and the easy hum of love.

Lorian stood in the kitchen, scrubbing a plate after supper. He was tall for his age, with a slightly toned build that hinted at growing strength. His messy brown hair fell over his forehead, and his deep yellow eyes—unique in all of Earth—seemed to glow faintly as he worked. His skin was fair, a stark contrast to the warm, amber light filtering through the kitchen window. His brow furrowed as he scrubbed the plate.

“Can’t believe I lost that,” he grunted, a mixture of frustration and amusement in his voice. Each night after dinner, the family played a game of Paper, Scissors, Rock to determine who would do the dishes. And, as usual, Lorian had lost.

“Lorian! Come in here!” Carma’s voice called from the dining room, an intriguing tone in her words.

Lorian raised an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “Hmm, I wonder what they’re up to...” he thought to himself.

He placed the last plate on the drying rack and wiped his hands dry, then made his way into the adjoining room. His parents sat at the far end of the table, a table that had seen years of use—an old family heirloom from Grenn’s lumberjack days. In the center of the table, an orb rested, its matte grey surface strange and uninviting. The inside was shrouded in mystery, hidden from view.

Carma, Lorian’s mother, was slightly taller than most women, with a graceful presence that filled the room. Her skin was a warm caramel tone, like the complexion of those from the Portuguese coast, and her black hair cascaded down in soft waves. Her brown eyes were warm but sharp, and her slender figure carried a natural elegance. Despite being a wizard of average strength, there was a quiet power in the way she held herself.

Grenn, Lorian’s father, was a massive figure in comparison. Standing around 6’7” with broad, muscular shoulders, his frame was built for strength. His skin was fair, and his blond hair was slightly tousled, as though it had never been quite tamed. His blue eyes were striking, their intensity softened by the graying stubble on his chin. While his physical presence exuded raw power, it was his more subtle understanding of magic that defined him. A lumberjack’s heir turned safety inspector for magical structures, his massive hands had never known the finesse of complex spells but instead were made for lifting the world itself.

Lorian looked at the scene before him, puzzled. “What is this?” he asked, his gaze shifting to the orb on the table.

“This,” Grenn said, his voice tinged with excitement, “is your magic test.”

“My... magic test?” Lorian repeated, puzzled.

“Yes, darling,” Carma explained, her voice soft but filled with anticipation. “Come sit, this will tell us a few things about your magic. You haven’t been blessed yet, but this will unlock the first door and give us a rough idea of your abilities and magic intensity.”

“Here, let me go first.” Carma smiled warmly and placed her hand on the orb. Green energy swirled from her fingertips, entering the orb with a soft hum. Slowly, the orb’s grey color shifted to a pale green. A number appeared above it: 4. Then, a symbol of a tree appeared, circling the orb.

“Okay, this number represents my power level,” Carma explained, gesturing toward the orb. “The green tinge shows my aura color, though it’s pretty faint. I don’t have much of an aura since I’m not all that powerful. Wizards above level 7 often have visible auras.”

Lorian leaned in, intrigued. “Hmm, very interesting. How many levels are there?”

“Well,” Carma continued, “there are 50 levels. The supreme sorcerer is a level 50, able to level mountains with his magic. Most wizards average around 5 to 10, though. Anything above that is rare and almost guarantees a spot in the High Council.”

She paused for a moment, her expression growing more thoughtful. “And the tree symbol? That’s my unique ability. It means I can speak to trees. It’s extremely rare, but honestly? It’s not much use when it comes to advancing your career in magic.”

“Wow, this is so cool,” Lorian said, his eyes wide with excitement. “Dad, what about you?”

Grenn chuckled, his booming voice full of pride. “Okay, let me show you my immense power!”

The orb faded to its neutral grey, signaling that it was ready for the next test. Grenn stretched out his massive hand and gently covered the orb, his fingers enveloping it entirely. A faint white light began to leak from his hand into the orb, which hummed softly as it turned a pale white. A number appeared above it: 1.

Lorian blinked in surprise. “One?!”

Grenn burst out laughing, his deep voice echoing through the room. “Yes, my boy. I’m the lowest power level a wizard can be!”

“Really? But you can lift a tree out of the ground and break it in half!” Lorian said, clearly confused.

“Yes,” Grenn replied with a wry grin, “but I’m more attuned to the inner workings of magic, not using it. I may be able to lift a truck and withstand most physical attacks—no spell can break my skin unless it’s from a wizard with a power level of 15 or above—but when it comes to casting spells, I’m quite feeble.”

Lorian scratched his head, still processing the information. “This is turning into quite an interesting night.”

Carma nodded, her smile a little more subdued. “Okay, now it’s your turn, darling.”

Lorian hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. He placed his hand on the orb, a sense of anticipation building inside him. The moment his fingers made contact with the surface, an overwhelming surge of energy rushed from him into the orb. A million colors spiraled into the grey sphere, flashing so quickly it almost seemed like the colors themselves were alive.

His eyes widened in amazement, but his parents’ faces grew more worried, more cautious.

Lorian instinctively pulled his hand away, his pulse quickening. The orb hummed louder, brighter, until it was shining like a blinding lamp. The colors swirled in a mesmerizing display—white, blue, green, yellow, and every color in between—until it became a full spectrum, like a rainbow of magic.

The wind howled suddenly, and a gust of air blew through the room, pushing open a window. Thunder rumbled outside as if responding to the orb’s sudden intensity. Then, as abruptly as it had started, the storm ceased. Silence hung in the air.

The orb flickered for a moment, and then, in bold numbers, appeared above it: 100.

“One-hundred?!?” Carma gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“How?! Why?!” Grenn stood up from his chair, his face a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Is the orb broken? That seems like a lot,” Lorian muttered, still trying to comprehend the numbers before him.

“I’m not sure,” Carma said, her voice strained with anxiety. “I’ve never seen an orb malfunction, but this can’t be right. The supreme sorcerer is only level 50, and he can level mountains with his magic. There’s no way you could be—”

“So, what does this mean?” Lorian interrupted, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Carma paused, taking a deep breath. “Nothing for now. You won’t be blessed until you turn 18, so we’ll just have to wait two more years before we can confirm if this reading is real.”

“I think we should all go to bed and pretend nothing happened,” Grenn said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

“I agree,” Carma replied, still shaken but trying to keep calm.

“Alright,” Lorian said, nodding slowly.

The family dispersed. Grenn walked off toward his bedroom, while Carma covered the orb with a cloth and followed him. Lorian stood by the table for a moment, his mind racing, before slowly retreating to his own room. He closed the door behind him, sat on the edge of his bed, and stared at his hand with uncertainty.

“Can I really be this powerful? Surely not...” he whispered to himself. “It’s probably just a mistake. Stupid orb.”

He undressed and threw his clothes on the desk chair, then lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered, closing his eyes as sleep finally overtook him.

Two thousand kilometers away, in the heart of the High Council Chambers, a serious discussion was taking place. The chamber was a grand room with high, vaulted ceilings, its walls lined with ancient tomes and enchanted artifacts. Nine council members sat at a long, ornate table, each one distinguished by the fine robes and magical symbols embroidered onto their clothing. At the head of the table, the Council Leader presided over the meeting, a stern figure dressed in a rich robe adorned with gold threads, his eyes sharp and calculating.

“We need to regulate how many Lazarus Nerns are being produced,” Council Member 1 said, his voice firm.

“I agree,” Council Member 5 added, his expression grim. “Too many Lazarus Nerns could destabilize the afterlife, causing chaos in the realms of the dead.”

The Council Leader nodded gravely before addressing the room. “As you all know, the Lazarus Nern is a creature capable of incredible power. It can call upon someone in heaven or hell, allowing that individual to speak to the living world. The Nern can take on the form of the dead person, their visage and voice appearing as they once were. But the price is steep.”

“Indeed,” Council Member 3 interjected, her tone serious. “Once a Nern assumes the form of the deceased, the dead person is trapped in that body until the conversation ends. They cannot leave until the living have finished speaking to them, or until the two-hour limit expires. After which, the Nern dies, and the dead person is returned to their realm.”

“A grim fate,” Council Member 7 remarked. “The Nern is only allowed to hold a visage for two hours before expiring, but without making a connection to a dead person, it can live for fifty years. A Lazarus Nern, in essence, becomes the vessel for communication between the worlds of life and death.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the creature’s potential—and its limitations—hanging heavily over the council.

The Council Leader cleared his throat, then spoke. “Alright, all in favor of limiting Lazarus Nern breeding to five additions per year, say aye.”

A chorus of “Aye” echoed through the chamber as each council member raised their hand in agreement.

The Council Leader’s gavel slammed down with finality. “Passed!” he declared, his voice resonating throughout the chamber.

“Next issue,” the leader addressed, turning his gaze to the clerical worker standing off to the side, who was surrounded by stacks of parchment and magical reports. She hurriedly handed him another document.

Before the meeting could continue, however, the heavy oak doors to the chamber suddenly swung open with a loud creak, interrupting the proceedings. The room fell silent as the figure entered—a wizard draped in a flowing black robe, intricately embroidered with gold runes that shimmered in the light. His footsteps echoed through the chamber, commanding attention as he made his way to the front of the council table.

In his hand, he wielded an ornate staff, its surface carved with runes of ancient power, glowing faintly with a cold blue light. The wizard was tall, his presence imposing, and his features concealed by the dark hood that hung low over his face. When he reached the front of the table, he paused, lifting his head to reveal his face.

The council members immediately rose from their seats, bowing deeply in respect. Their gazes fixed on the wizard, their expressions a mix of awe and fear.

“What can we do for you, Supreme Sorcerer?” The Council Leader’s voice trembled with reverence, his eyes wide.

The wizard’s voice, deep and resonant, filled the room. “Leave,” he commanded, his tone cold and final.

The clerical worker, startled, quickly gathered her papers and rushed out of the room, the doors slamming shut behind her with a force that echoed like thunder.

The Supreme Sorcerer, standing tall and still, surveyed the room with an air of controlled menace. His piercing eyes, glowing faintly beneath the hood, locked onto the council members as they anxiously awaited his next words.

“We have a big problem in Evoria,” he said, his voice thick with malice. The very mention of Evoria sent a shiver through the room. Evoria was a town known for its untamed magic and rare abilites, a place where the boundaries of power often blurred into chaos.

The Council Leader swallowed, his face paling as he realized the weight of what was to come.