Chapter 1: Awakening
Ashviel’s eyes flickered open. He woke up to find himself in a poorly lit room, the only source of illumination being a burning lantern hung on one side of the wall. His body felt stiff, as if he had been asleep for ages. In the dim light, he raised his head to study the cubicle.
The room was quite small; barely ten paces wide and long. Various curious objects hung on the wall: potions of varying colours in vials, weapons of diverse shapes meticulously arranged, and manifold cloaks and coats. At the farthest end of the room was a small table on which top laid a couple of books, a scroll, and a feather with its end dyed in ink.
‘It could be a mage’s workshop, or a thief’s hideout, a studious thief as that.’ Ashviel chuckled at the thought.
His gaze finally fell on a long black cloak that seemed oddly familiar. Just then, the previous day’s events flashed though his mind.
He had left his village for the forest to hunt some games for his family at night. The catch had not been especially great, just a squirrel caught by a trap he had left some days earlier. Still, he felt no disappointment at his luck. Just the other day, he had single handedly killed a large bear deep in the forest. He had marched gaily as he brought the meat home for his family. The villagers had marveled at the sight and while many praised him for his bravery, others had envied his fortune.
‘Not bad,’ he thought to himself as he placed the quarry in his hunting bag and made to return to the village.
His return to Tvinn Village was however greeted with a devastating scene. Right there before his eyes, the village buildings and farms burnt down in fury, having been set afire by men yet unknown. He freed himself from his hunting equipment and made for the mayhem-struck village.
The villagers ran around wildly, like scalded cats, watching in horror as a tragedy unfolded before them. Every so often, a sword would run through some of them, while another group would go up in flames, exploding in a shower of fire and blood. Woes and cries of help rose from every corner as a group of white-robed men massacred the villagers and laid waste to their lands.
Ashviel stood at the center of the village, with drops of sweat rolling down his head and stinging his eyes like tiny vipers. He would hear a deafening sound, and the cries of dying men and women would rise to obscure the sound. All that was around him was a cyclone of violence and chaos, a terrible mixture of death and despair.
With his breath still caught in his throat, and amidst blood and tears, Ashviel hastily headed for his homestead, covering a few thousand meters in mere minutes. He met the straw hut in fumes, with the walls torn down like old paper. Scrambling through the charred debris, he found what used to be his beloved parents, the only thing left of them being bones and ashes, barely discernible from the burning rubble. Unable to contain his agony, he sobbed silently, and then let out a cry of despair.
A gust of wind blew and the smoke made way for a white-robed man approaching Ashviel steadily, apparently alerted by the latter’s scream.
A number of emotions sprung forth from Ashviel – anger, anguish, agony– and on impulse, he charged at the white-robed man. The man had no trouble in handling him; he knocked him down easily, turned around and dragged poor Ashviel along.
“Indac, I’ve laid hands on the torch of damnation,” he announced in a victorious tone to a sturdy white-robed, supposedly their leader.
Indac drew closer with some of his men in tow, and with a curious yet menacing look, he bent down to examine Ashviel. He grabbed Ashviel’s face, brought it closer to his and stared coldly into the boy’s eyes.
“Interesting,” he said and cracked a sinister smile.
“That’s enough Indac, kill him already,” said one of his men, growing impatient.
Indac raised his sword high to administer the coup de grace, and Ashviel, stricken by fear, squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting his unfortunate end. He opened them a short while later to see Indac – or at least Indac’s body – as a white streak of lightning decapitated him and sent his large head toppling on the ground.
Alarmed, Indac’s men drew their swords and took positions in anticipation of their unknown attacker.
“Who dares?” screamed one of them.
“Where from?” cried another.
From the direction of the lightning streak emerged a black-cloaked man who, without the slightest ceremony, cut down a majority of the white-robed with a long sword. So quick and nimble were his attacks that he had already taken out half of them before they could even respond.
The remaining men joined their hands to unleash a huge fireball on the black-cloaked mage, but the strike was as ineffectual as it was ill made; it was deflected effortlessly. The solitary invader raised his other hand swiftly, gesticulating as if he was trying to cut the air, and to Ashviel’s bewilderment, the men were sliced through; robe, armor and body.
One of the white-clad had survived the assault, albeit with a torn arm. He raised his other arm faintly, pointing it at the black-robed who had killed his allies.
“You! Just who do you think you are! The society will–”. His threat was cut short by an invisible force that rammed into his thick skull, cleaving his head from temple to temple.
Ashviel was certain that the battlers before him were no doubt mages. Not that he had ever encountered one before, but he had once listened to a tale of battling mages from his father, who had supposedly witnessed them.
No sooner had the black-cloaked mage appeared than he annihilated the earlier assailants. Ashviel felt a strong pang of fear as the lone victor turned towards him.
Even in his dark cloaks, he could clearly see the man. He was tall and slightly muscular, with pointy dark beards projecting from his lower jaw. Defying gravity, spikes of jet-black hair jutted from his head, forming an unruly mass about his shoulders like a tousled crown.
With an enigmatic grin, which Ashviel found frightful, he approached the lad, who was far too scared to move a muscle. He dragged Ashviel up and touched his head with a finger.
That was all he could recall, for he soon fell asleep after the black-cloaked touch.
The door of the room opened and the black-cloaked man entered, this time without his cloak, but with his unmistakable grin.
“Oh, you’re awake already, it must be the healing effect of damnation.” he said as his gaze met Ashviel’s.
Ashviel wanted to ask him many questions, but the one that found its way out was a weak “Who are you?”
“I go by a lot of names,” he began, “but you can call me Master Vauxall, though you see, I’m far greater than a master. By the way, you must be very hungry.”
Ashviel nodded his head slightly.
“Kael, our guest is awake.” Master Vauxall called.
Moments later, a lad about Ashviel’s age came in with a tray of food and water.
“I’m Kael Zeroszen, nice to meet you,” said the boy as he lowered the tray before Ashviel and shook his hands.
“I’m Ashviel, I…I don’t really have a surname, not yet at least.”
“I understand,” replied the other boy.
Ashviel devoured his food and took a considerable amount of rest before mustering enough courage to demand an explanation from Master Vauxall for the reason his village was attacked.
“Those people who attacked your people are members of the Capricorn Prime, a society of mages. You, born with a torch of damnation, could be a powerful ally to them, or a terrible sworn enemy. While courting your friendship would be easier, maintaining it would be a hellish task. Besides, there will be no guarantee you will not one day turn against them.” Master Vauxall elucidated.
“So the best idea that occurred to them was to eliminate you” Kael cut in. “And as for the villagers, well they had poor luck,” he concluded unceremoniously.
Ashviel held up his trembling hand and slowly raised it over his face. The whole events were no doubt unbelievable for him. ’This is a nightmare,” he said.
It was no nightmare; it was as real as death itself was. The sweet memories he had soon changed into gory ones, with the images of the night stabbing his heart.
Master Vauxall continued after allowing the message to sink into Ashviel’s mind.
“Since I killed them,” said he, “their superiors will be sure to come after you, should they get wind of your survival. Staying below their radar will be up to you.”
Ashviel’s face reddened in anger as he was forced to sail through a turbulent sea of his own fury. He scrunched his fists and snarled devilishly through gritted teeth “Damn those Capricorns, let them come back. I’ll definitely get them back anyway, definitely.”
“Without doubt,” said Master Vauxall with a chuckle, “though right now you are not nearly strong enough to kill a wounded Capricorn novice. I think I’ll see something to do to that.”
“You mean you’ll teach me magic,” exclaimed Ashviel, excitement creeping into his hitherto ghoulish face.
“I have said nothing of such meaning, but we’ll see about it. You lads should get some sleep, we have some work tomorrow,” said Master Vauxall as he strode out of the room.
