Once upon a time, there's a kingdom called Valhalla kingdom. They're ruled with King Ragnar, and there's a village of wizards called Glacirien. They are living happily.
Although Valhalla kingdom and the Glacirien wizards have lived in peace for centuries, there've been rumors of a brewing tension between the two. The king is slowly taking action, convinced that the wizards are a threat to the kingdom.
A small group of knights, under the orders of the king, set out to the Glacirien wizards village, their swords and shields ready for the battle to come. Ragnar is determined to eliminate the wizards, believing their magic could one day threaten his kingdom.
When the knights arrive at the wizards' village, they are met with fierce resistance. The wizards are prepared, their spells and enchantments at the ready as they defend the place they've called their home for generations.
Alistair, a young apprentice wizard, rushes to the outskirts of town to find his parents amidst the fight. His mother, Isidora, is a talented spellcaster, while his father, Eldron, is a skilled warrior wizard. As they fight back against the knights, Alistair notices that the battle isn't going in their favor.
As Alistair fights his way through the village, his heart sinks as he sees the destruction around him. Buildings are reduced to rubble, and the once-thriving village is now in ruins. He searches desperately for his parents but can't find them anywhere.
Through the smoke and chaos, Alistair spots his parents being dragged out in front of the King and the knights. They look defiant, but Alistair can see the fear in their eyes. He silently watches as the King's men restrain his parents, and then, with a swift swing of the sword, they're decapitated.
Tears streaming down his face, Alistair runs as fast as he can through the nearby woods. His mind is a whirlwind of grief and anger, and the realization hits him that he's the last wizard alive.
As Alistair runs deeper into the woods, he's left with only one question on his mind: what does he do now? Will he be consumed by vengeance, seeking to avenge his parents and the other wizards? Or will he find solace in the fact that he's the last wizard alive? Either way, he knows that his journey will be a difficult one, and he's going to have to learn to survive in a world that hates and fears his kind.
Alistair wandered through the streets of Valhalla, the town seemingly rejoicing and celebrating the death of the wizards. He felt a knot in his chest, a mixture of anger and depression. Everywhere he looked, he saw people laughing and enjoying their victory, while his own world had just been shattered and lost forever.
Alistair was jolted out of his mournful thoughts as a man who appeared to be a nobleman grabbed him by the collar and asked, "Hey, kiddo, what are you doing here?" Alistair was surprised at the sudden attention, and he looked up at the man, his emotions still in turmoil.
Alistair averted his gaze, avoiding eye contact with the man who was still holding him by the collar. He could feel the man's suspicion grow, and he knew he had to think fast.
The nobleman chuckled, continuing to hold onto Alistair's collar as he spoke. "Hey, if you have nowhere to stay, you can stay in my place. You look like a total mess. Where did you come from?" The man looked Alistair up and down, taking in his disheveled appearance and the sorrow in his eyes.
Alistair stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to the nobleman's offer. He was not used to being talked to in such a friendly manner, and he was still processing the loss of his village and parents. The nobleman seemed surprised by his lack of response but didn't let go of his grip on Alistair's collar.
As they walked, Count Galdor Devereaux turned to Alistair and said, "Before we get to my manor, I should properly introduce myself. I am Galdor Devereaux, Count of Valhalla. And you are?" He looked at Alistair expectantly, waiting for a response.
Alistair hesitated for a moment before replying softly, "I'm...Alistair." His voice was almost a whisper, and he kept his gaze averted from the count's penetrating eyes.
Galdor Devereaux raised an eyebrow at the young boy's shy response, but nodded in acknowledgment. "Very well, Alistair,' he said, 'that's a strong name for a young lad like yourself. How old are you, if I may ask?"
Alistair took a deep breath before answering the count's question. "I'm thirteen summers old," he said, still avoiding making eye contact.
Galdor Devereaux was surprised by Alistair's young age, but he hid it well. "Thirteen summers old, you say?" he mused, continuing to lead the way towards the manor. "That's quite young to be on your own. Where are your parents?"
Alistair's expression darkened at the mention of his parents, but he replied simply, "They're not around anymore."
Galdor Devereaux noticed the shift in Alistair's expression and realized that he had touched upon a sensitive subject. He decided not to press the matter further. "I see," he said, maintaining a neutral tone. "You're an orphan, then?"
Alistair nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the count's statement. "Yes," he replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Galdor Devereaux nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic for the young man. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "It must have been difficult for you these past few days. But fear not, my manor is vast; there's plenty of room for a young lad like yourself."
Alistair remained silent, unsure of what to say. A part of him felt a sort of relief at the prospect of having a roof over his head, but another part of him felt wary of trusting this nobleman. Nevertheless, he continued to follow Galdor Devereaux, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions.
They finally arrived at the count's manor, a grand, imposing building made of grey stone. The manor stood at the edge of town, secluded yet close enough to the hustle and bustle of Valhalla. Galdor Devereaux led Alistair up the stone steps and to the heavy oak doors, which were quickly opened by a servant.
As they entered the manor, Alistair couldn't help but be taken aback by the luxurious surroundings. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, and the floors were covered in thick, richly colored rugs. Servants scurried about, attending to their duties with practiced efficiency.
Galdor Devereaux watched Alistair take in the manor's grandeur with a hint of amusement. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said. "But this is only the beginning. Come, let me show you to your room. You must be exhausted."
Alistair nodded slowly, his eyes still wide with awe. He followed the count up a grand staircase and down a long hallway, past several closed doors. Eventually, they stopped in front of a door that was slightly ajar. Galdor Devereaux pushed it open, revealing a spacious room with a comfortable-looking bed, a writing desk, and a wardrobe.
"Here we are," Galdor Devereaux said, gesturing for Alistair to enter the room. "This will be your room for as long as you stay with me. Make yourself comfortable."
Alistair entered the room and looked around with a mixture of curiosity and exhaustion. The bed looked inviting, and he suddenly realized just how tired he was. Galdor Devereaux noticed his weariness and said, "You look like you could use a good night's sleep. I'll leave you to rest now. We can talk more in the morning."
Alistair nodded once again, too tired to speak. He climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. As soon as his head hit the pillows, he was asleep, his exhaustion overcoming him.
Alistair slept deeply, his body exhausted from the day's events. In his dreams, he found himself transported back to the night his village was attacked. He watched helplessly as his parents fought bravely against the knights, their magic and swordplay a desperate attempt to protect their home and their son.
Alistair jolted awake, his heart racing and his breathing labored. He sat up in the bed, his mind still clouded by the remnants of the dream. He ran a trembling hand through his tousled hair, trying to calm his racing thoughts. The image of his parents, fighting and falling, was etched into his mind, and he ached with the loss he felt.
He looked around the room, the luxurious surroundings a stark contrast to the brutal reality of his dream. He tried to remind himself that he was safe in the manor, but the memory of the nightmare was still fresh and raw. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness and despair that lingered in his chest.
Alistair sat on the edge of the bed, his mind racing with thoughts of escape. He knew that staying in the count's manor was not a permanent solution. He needed to find a way to start anew, to find a place where he could be safe and hidden from the world that feared him. But the thought of setting out on his own, completely alone, was daunting.
Alistair quickly packed a few essentials into his bag: some clothes, a loaf of bread, and a water skin. He took one last look around the room, noting the luxurious surroundings that he was leaving behind. He then sat down at the desk, grabbed a quill, and quickly scribbled out a brief note.
He folded the note and placed it on the desk, visible for anyone who entered the room to find. Without a second thought, he moved to the window and quietly climbed out into the night.
The cool night air greeted him as he dropped lightly to the ground, a shiver running down his spine. He paused for a moment, listening for any signs of movement or alarms. All was quiet, and he took it as a good sign, he then started running into the woods, disappearing into the darkness.
Alistair approached the decimated village, his heart heavy with grief and nostalgia. The sight of the once-thriving Glacirien village, reduced to ruins, was almost too much to bear. The streets he had played in as a child were now silent, the houses burnt and crumbling, the flowers he remembered so well were now just charred remains.
He moved deeper into the village, his footsteps crunching on the dried leaves and broken twigs. The memories of happier times came flooding back, their brightness only magnifying the stark reality of the present.
Alistair entered his parents' old room, the pain of their loss still fresh in his heart. As he walked around the room, he noticed a book sitting on the nightstand, glowing with a faint golden light. He picked it up curiously, his fingers tracing the edge of the worn cover.
As he opened the book, he was surprised to find that it was a spell book, filled with spells and incantations written in his mother's handwriting. The pages seemed to glow brighter as he turned them, as if responding to his touch.
Alistair closed the spell book, a mixture of emotions coursing through him. He knew that the book held power, power that he could use to defend himself if he ever needed to, but he also knew that using magic would draw attention to him and put him in danger.
He sighed heavily, his mind conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to use his powers to avenge his parents, to show the world that wizards were not the threat they believed them to be. But on the other hand, he knew that using magic would only bring more pain and suffering to his already troubled life.
Alistair froze in place, his heart racing as he heard the sound of someone approaching. He quickly hid behind a nearby wall, peeking out cautiously to see who it was. The darkness and shadows made it difficult to see, but he could make out a figure carrying a lantern, moving stealthily through the ruined village.
Alistair watched in horror as King Regnar, the man who had ordered the destruction of the Glacirien village, moved through the ruined streets. The king held a lantern in one hand, its soft light illuminating his cold, calculating face. He moved with a sense of purpose, as if he was searching for something.
Alistair clenched his fists, his anger and hatred rising within him. He wanted to confront the king, to make him pay for what he had done, but he knew he was powerless against him.
King Regnar continued his search through the ruined village, his lantern casting long shadows against the ruined buildings. He moved with a deliberate purpose, his eyes scanning the wreckage for any signs of survivors.
Alistair watched the king from his hiding place, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He knew that he had to get out of the village before the king discovered him.
He waited for a few moments, until he was sure that the king was out of sight. He then silently made his way out of the village, disappearing into the darkness of the surrounding woods.
Alistair journeyed on, the memories of Glacirien village still fresh in his mind. He avoided the towns and cities, preferring to stick to the forests and wilderness. He wanted to keep a low profile and avoid any attention from the humans, who viewed wizards with fear and suspicion.
He walked for hours, his steps slow and steady. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape. Alistair knew he needed to find a place to rest for the night, but as he looked around, he saw nothing but trees and scrubland.
***At Night**
King Regnar sat on his throne, a goblet of wine in his hand. He was engaged in conversation with his advisor, a shrewd man with a calculating gleam in his eyes.
"Have you heard any news?" the king asked, taking a sip of wine.
The advisor spoke up, confident in his assessment. "Your majesty, I can assure you that there's no need to worry. Our attack was thorough, and the reports indicate that there were no survivors. The crystal is our proof, and if there was even one wizard alive, the crystal would have shown us."
The king nodded, taking another sip of wine. "Yes, I know. But I can't shake the feeling that something is not quite right. It's like there's a lingering sense of unease, a feeling that there's something we've missed."
The advisor raised an eyebrow, his expression betraying a hint of amusement. "You're letting your paranoia get the better of you, Your Majesty. There's no way a wizard could have escaped us. And if they did, they would be on the run, not hiding right under our noses."
The king sighed, setting down his goblet. "Perhaps you're right. It's just...well, I've been hunting wizards for so long that it feels strange to think that there are none left. It's almost anticlimactic."
The advisor chuckled softly. "You're too used to the thrill of the chase, Your Majesty. You need to learn to enjoy the victory. The wizards are gone, and that's a cause for celebration."
The king's son, Prince Thorin, entered the room, his face flushed from training. "Father, I'm done with the training for today," he said.
King Regnar barely glanced at his son, his expression cold and distant. "Good," he said curtly, not even bothering to look up from his goblet of wine.
Prince Thorin exited the room, his frustration mounting. Why couldn't his father show even a hint of interest in him? It seemed like all he cared about was his war against the wizards.
He clenched his fists, the anger and hurt bubbling inside him. He knew that his father would never change, but it still stung every time he was ignored.
Prince Thorin strode quickly through the halls of the castle, his mind racing. He couldn't bear the thought of spending another night in his father's cold and distant company. He decided that he needed to get out, to get away from the oppressive atmosphere of the castle.
With a sense of determination, he grabbed his cloak and slipped out of the castle, disappearing into the night.
As he walked through the town, Prince Thorin felt a sense of freedom and relief. He was free from the constraints of the castle, free from the constant scrutiny of the king. The moon shone down on him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly alive.
His feet led him towards the edge of town, where the darkness of the forest beckoned. He knew that he should have been back in the castle by now, but he didn't care.
****
Alistair sat by the campfire, eating a meager meal of dried fruit and bread. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks dancing into the night sky. He wrapped himself in his cloak, trying to ward off the chill of the night air.
He sighed, his thoughts going back to Glacirien village. The memories were still fresh in his mind, still raw and painful. He wondered if he would ever be able to truly leave the past behind.
Alistair was jolted out of his thoughts by a sudden rustling in the bushes behind him. He stood up quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was close.
He listened closely, straining his ears to hear any clues about what might be lurking in the darkness. The night felt too quiet, too still, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
Alistair watched as a young man stepped out from behind the bushes, a sheepish expression on his face. The man was about Alistair's age, and he looked equally startled to have stumbled upon someone in the woods.
The boy spoke up, his voice soft and apologetic. "Hello, sorry for scaring you. I'm Thorin."
Alistair was surprised by the boy's sudden appearance, but he saw no threat in him. He relaxed slightly, his hand loosened its grip on his dagger.
Then Alistair replied back, "No, it's okay. I was...I was just startled, that's all." He studied the boy, trying to get a sense of his intentions.
Thorin chuckled, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that. I was just looking for a place to spend the night, and I didn't mean to frighten you."
Alistair relaxed even more at Thorin's words, sensing that the boy meant no harm. "You're traveling alone?" he asked curiously.
Thorin nodded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah...I sort of snuck out tonight. I couldn't bear to be in the castle anymore."
Alistair smiled softly, his earlier fear fading away. "Here, you can have some of my fish. It's not much, but it's better than nothing." He offered Thorin the cooked fish he had been eating, trying to make the boy feel more comfortable.
Thorin's eyes lit up at the sight of the fish, and he accepted it with a grateful smile. "Thanks, man. I haven't eaten anything since this morning."
Alistair watched as Thorin eagerly accepted the offered fish, his own hunger temporarily forgotten. He pondered a question that had been simmering in his mind. "I thought you lived in the castle," he said, his curiosity piqued.
Thorin swallowed a bite of the fish, savoring the taste. "I do, but...well, let's just say I don't feel very welcome there." There was a sadness in his voice that made Alistair's heart pang with empathy.
As they finished the meal, Alistair looked at Thorin, a sense of excitement and curiosity in his eyes. "Hey, since we're both out here alone, why don't we go on a little adventure together? Do you know of any nearby villages we can go to?"
Thorin's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "An adventure, really? I haven't been on one before." Thorin thought for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I do know of one village not far from here. It's a small place called Willowbrook, it's surrounded by a forest on three sides. Do you want to go?"
Alistair pondered the information for a moment, the name "Willowbrook" sparking his interest. "Willowbrook...that sounds like a peaceful place. Sure, why not?"
Thorin grinned, excitement coursing through him. "Great! It's a little bit of a walk, but I think it's worth it." He rose to his feet, brushing off the dirt from his cloak.
As the fire flickered lowly, casting long shadows across the dark clearing, Alistair and Thorin prepared to sleep. Alistair unfolded a thin, threadbare blanket and shared it with Thorin, wrapping it around both of their shoulders to ward off the chill of the night.
***THE NEXT DAY***
Alistair's eyes fluttered open, the events of the previous day slowly coming back to him. He turned his head to see Thorin still sleeping peacefully, their shared blanket now bunched around their shoulders.
Alistair carefully got up, trying not to wake Thorin, who was still sleeping soundly. He quietly made his way to the edge of the river, where the water sparkled in the early morning light.
Alistair knelt by the banks, his focus entirely on the task at hand. He dipped his handmade fishing line into the water, watching as the current played with the makeshift lure.
The river was calm and tranquil, the sound of the water as it rippled over the rocks creating a soothing melody. Alistair waited patiently, feeling a sense of peace settle over him as the sun bathed the landscape in a warm, golden light.
Suddenly, the fishing line tautened, and Alistair gripped the rod tightly. He felt a surge of excitement as whatever was on the other end of the line fought to escape. Alistair reeled in the line, his hand moving in quick, practiced motions.
Time passed, and Alistair returned to their campsite, his arms full of fish he had caught from the river. Thorin was still fast asleep, cuddled snugly under the shared blanket. Alistair decided to wait for him to wake up, so they could eat together.
He busied himself by cleaning and preparing the fish, his fingers moving with practiced ease. The smell of cooked fish filled the air, mixing with the scent of the damp earth and the smoke from the fire. Alistair took a seat near the fire, watching the flames dance and crackle as he waited for Thorin to wake up.
Thorin slowly stirred, woken by the enticing aroma of cooking fish. He sat up, his hair tousled from sleep, and rubbed his eyes groggily. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he said, "You're like a housewife, you know that?"
Alistair raised an eyebrow at the cheeky comment, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, someone's got to catch the food around here," he retorted, flipping one of the fish over the fire.
Alistair and Thorin sat cross-legged around the crackling campfire, their fingers sticky with the grease from the cooked fish. It was a simple meal, but it felt like a feast to two young boys on an adventure. As they finished their breakfast, they broke camp, packing up their few belongings and setting off once more on their journey. The sun shone down on them as they walked, the promise of the new day filling them with determination. They walked for hours through the thick forest, following the well-worn path northward towards the Willowbrook village.
The journey was long and tiring, but the two teens pushed on, walking for hours through thick forest. They were halfway to Willowbrook village when they heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Before they could react, a group of bandits emerged from the trees, surrounding them on all sides. They brandished knives and clubs, their eyes glittering with greed. Thorin reached for his sword, but one of the bandits was lunging at Alistair with a dagger. Before Alistair could react, Thorin stepped in front of him, blocking the bandit's blow with his sword.
The bandits laughed loudly, their eyes glinting with malice. "What are two kids like you doing wandering through the forest alone?" one of them asked. "Don't you know that these woods are dangerous? You should go home before we're forced to kill you."
The bandits' eyes widened at the sight of Thorin's sword. It was a fine-looking weapon, gleaming in the sunlight. Thorin held it with ease, looking unperturbed by the danger of the situation. Alistair was shocked to see the sword, surprised that Thorin had been carrying it all along without mentioning it.
A couple of the bandits chuckled, their grins growing wide. "Looks like we've found a young warrior here," one of them snickered, eyeing Thorin's sword with admiration.
As the other bandits lunged towards Thorin, Alistair's fear overtook him, and he found himself rooted to the ground. He watched in terror as Thorin fought them off, his sword flashing in the sunlight. Unable to help, Alistair ducked behind a nearby tree, his heart pounding in his chest.
As Alistair watched Thorin fight off the bandits, his mind flashed back to the day his village was attacked. He remembered his parents fighting desperately to defend their home, just as he was watching Thorin do now. The memory of their deaths filled him with a deep sense of helplessness and fear.
As the bandits closed in on Thorin, Alistair was certain that he would be overwhelmed. But to his surprise, Thorin fought with a confidence and skill that belied his youthful appearance. He parried the attacks with ease, his sword flicking out to counterattack. Alistair watched in awe, marveling at Thorin's bravery and prowess in battle.
The bandits were fast but Thorin was faster, darting around them with surprising grace. He lunged and weaved between blows, his sword dancing like a bright, silver blur. Alistair was amazed at how adept Thorin was with the blade. He hadn't expected his new companion to be so skilled.
The bandits began to despair. They had thought they would have an easy victory, but they were sorely mistaken. Thorin was a force to be reckoned with, and he was only growing stronger with each passing moment.
The bandits tried to get the upper hand, but Thorin countered their moves with ruthless efficiency. He was a blur of motion, his sword a deadly extension of his arm. Alistair watched in awe, his fear slowly turning to amazement. He had never seen anyone fight like this before.
Thorin fought with a grace and precision that was almost supernatural. He weaved and danced through the onslaught of the bandits, his sword flashing like a streak of silver lightning. Even though he was surrounded, he moved with complete confidence, striking and parrying with effortless grace. Soon, the bandits were disarmed and lying on the ground, groaning in pain and defeat. Amazingly, Thorin had managed not to kill them, instead just besting them until they surrendered.
The tall man in the cape suddenly appeared from nowhere, his face hidden by the shadows of his hood. Thorin whirled around, his sword pointed at the newcomer, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
The newcomer removed his hood, revealing his long, white hair and sharp green eyes. His skin was unnaturally pale, and his lips were the color of grey, making him look like a ghost. Despite his strange appearance, Thorin could sense that this was no ordinary threat. The strange man watched him intently, a smirk on his lips, and spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. "I'm not an enemy, kid. I see you have the skill of a warrior, but you gotta practice more."
Thorin clutched his sword tighter, his gaze fixed on the pale-skinned stranger. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice sharp and cautious.
The pale-skinned stranger chuckled softly, amused by Thorin's challenge. "My name is Lucius," he replied in a smooth, velvety voice.
"Lucius," Thorin repeated, his grip on his sword not relaxing one bit. "That's not a common name. What business do you have in these woods?"
Lucius' smirk widened, his eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. "My business here is my own," he replied, his voice tinged with a touch of arrogance. "But I couldn't help but notice your skill in battle. You have potential, young warrior."
Lucius quirked an eyebrow as he noticed Alistair hiding behind Thorin. "Ah, who's that scaredy cat behind you?" he said, his gaze landing on the terrified Alistair.
Alistair flinched under Lucius' gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable. He tried to hide even further behind Thorin, hoping that he would somehow become invisible.
But Lucius wasn't fooled. He chuckled softly and shook his head, his gaze still fixed on Alistair. "You brought a boy along for this journey?" he asked Thorin, his tone tinged with disbelief
"He insists on coming alone," Thorin replied curtly, his eyes still fixed on Lucius. "I couldn't exactly leave him behind."
Lucien nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "I understand. The young can be reckless and headstrong, yes?"
Thorin nodded in agreement, his expression remaining stern. "You could say that. But he's not entirely useless. He has a good heart."
"Hearts can be just as dangerous as swords, sometimes even more so," Lucius remarked, his gaze still fixed on Alistair. "But it's good to have a big heart, as long as one knows how to wield it."
Lucius walked over the bandits, picking up each one with ease, and began to hoist them over his shoulder. He looked up at Thorin and Alistair, a smirk on his face. "See you again soon, if you're looking for the Willowbrook village just go left to see the entrance gate," he said, his voice surprisingly casual. "You're welcome."
Thorin noticed Alistair's anxiety and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine," he whispered, a reassuring smile on his face. "You've got me by your side, remember?"
As Alistair and Thorin entered the Willowbrook village, they were both struck by its charm and beauty. The quaint, cobbled streets were lined with colorful flowers, and the buildings were made of warm-colored stone, their thatched roofs and wooden shutters giving the place a cozy feeling. Everywhere they looked, there were signs of a prosperous community; people bustling about, children playing games, and merchants hawking their wares. The overall atmosphere was one of peace and contentment, a stark contrast to the tension they had felt in the forest.
While Alistair and Thorin explored the pretty village, they were blissfully unaware of someone watching their every move. High up in a nearby tree, a figure was perched, observing them intently. They were hidden by the shadows and leaves, their identity concealed.
"interesting..." Smirked.
TO BE CONTINUED