The spirit realm was quiet that morning, the silver mist curling around the edges of the floating islands like smoke from an unseen fire. Lucas stood at the edge of the cliff, the winds tugging at his robes, his eyes closed as he meditated. The lessons Arilyn had imparted over the past months had changed him, shaped him into something stronger and sharper. Time no longer intimidated him, and the four elements, water, air, fire, and earth—responded to his touch with obedience. Yet, even with all this power, his mind and heart remained tethered to the world he had left behind. A sudden ripple of energy pulsed through the realm, bright and jagged, and Lucas’s eyes flew open. His heart hammered. He never felt it before. He saw the grace vision about Mirna being in danger. “Kael! Arilyn!” he called urgently, his voice echoing across the cliffs. Both turned toward him, worry instantly registering on their faces. “Lucas, what is it?” Kael demanded, running toward him, his cloak trailing

Lucas knelt amidst the ruins of Dellwyn, his hands pressed against the cold, broken cobblestones, his forehead almost scraping the jagged stones beneath him. The village was a graveyard of smoke and ash. The scent of burnt wood and charred flesh hung thick in the air, mixing with the coppery tang of blood. His chest tightened with grief as his gaze swept over the remnants of what had once been a home—a place of laughter, of warmth, of his grandmother’s presence. All of it lay in ruin, trampled under the cruelty of Maelrik’s army.For a long moment, Lucas remained still, head bowed, unmoving. The devastation around him mirrored the turmoil within. Eleven years of training in the spirit world, years of mastering his abilities, years of preparing for vengeance, had brought him here, yet it could not shield him from the raw emptiness of loss. yes, Lucas is now 22 years old when this tragedy struck him. Mirna, his grandmother, the only family who had truly nurtured him, had been torn from

Lucas nodded, feeling a surge of resolve. Today had been a victory, but he knew the war was far from over. Together, with Agnes and Bulb, he would prepare for the battles to come, for the revenge he had long dreamed of, and for the protection of those he still had left to save.They moved away from the smoldering ruins of Dellwyn, the once-thriving village now reduced to ash and rubble. Lucas’s eyes scanned the horizon constantly, alert for any lingering threats. Agnes led the way, the small flying boat gliding silently above the ground, Bulb following behind, his sword secured at his side. The wind tugged at Lucas’s hair, but he remained deep in thought.“I still don’t understand how you found me,” Lucas said finally, breaking the tense silence. His voice was cautious, skeptical. “And why? How do I know you’re not leading me into a trap?”Agnes glanced back at him, her expression calm but firm. “You have reason to doubt. Anyone would. But we are not your enemies, Lucas. We’ve been tr

The polished marble floors of the royal audience hall reflected the flickering torchlight as Cazien stepped forward, his black robes whispering softly against the floor. He had received the summons from the king, expecting a routine discussion, perhaps counsel on matters of magic or the usual deliberations of the priesthood. What he did not expect, however, was the tension that seemed to choke the very air around Tharion’s throne. “Your Highness,” Cazien began, bowing his head respectfully. “I trust all is well.” Tharion’s dark eyes glimmered as he gestured slightly with one hand. “Cazien, my faithful priest. How bright your wisdom shines… yet how dim your understanding of loyalty can be.” Cazien stiffened, sensing the subtle threat in the king’s tone. Tharion’s words carried layers, each syllable weighed with meaning beyond the surface. “Loyalty, Your Majesty?” Cazien inquired cautiously, keeping his tone even. “I have always served your throne, as is my duty even when your ac

The small camp in the forest was quiet except for the crackling of a fire and the occasional rustle of leaves from the wind. Bulb rolled out an ancient map, its edges frayed and creased from years of use. The drawings were detailed, showing forests, mountains, rivers, and villages, with small symbols marking known magical currents and safe passages. Lucas leaned over the table, studying the lines carefully.“This,” Bulb said, pointing at a small, circled symbol near the center, “is what we need to find, the King’s Relic. The ring Tharion wears. Destroy it, and his power will weaken. Everything else follows.”Lucas frowned. “Destroy it? How? And how do we even find it? He wouldn’t keep it lying around.”Bulb’s eyes narrowed. “The ring wasn’t made to be ordinary. It was forged by an artificer who no longer trusts anyone. The one who made it is the only one who can tell us how to undo it. We need to find him.”Agnes leaned in, her finger tracing a path along the map. “The artificer lives