Chapter 1: The Chosen or the Forsaken
The sky above Virelion City shimmered with spelllight — golden threads weaving through clouds like divine silk. Below, streets buzzed with excitement. Today was no ordinary day.
It was the Day of Choosing.
Luice Gremon sat quietly on the rooftop of his family's modest home, his legs dangling over the edge. From here, he could see the soaring towers of the Arcane Academy in the distance, their spires glowing with energy. Floating sigils danced in the air as spell-drones painted runes of celebration across the sky.
Tomorrow, he would turn sixteen.
Tomorrow, he would stand before the Arcane Hall and, like every other sixteen-year-old, be presented before the Wills of Magic. If fate was kind, one of the ancient staffs would choose him.
And once chosen, his path would be set.
There were three types of staffs, each a reflection of the bearer's potential:
Initiate Staffs — basic, functional, and offered to the magically compatible. Adept Staffs — wielded by skilled mages, enhanced by runes and sigils. Mythic Staffs — powerful relics said to resonate only with prodigies.
But legends spoke of two forbidden staffs — one forged from the essence of destruction, and one born from creation itself. Myths… stories... or maybe something more.
"Luice!" called a voice from behind.
His little sister Mira peeked up through the attic window. "Mom says to come down! She made sparkle-cake again."
Luice laughed softly. "Tell her I'll be there soon."
He took one final glance at the skyline. Tomorrow, he told himself. Everything changes.
The Ceremony
The next morning, Luice stood among his classmates in the radiant Hall of Wills. The chamber gleamed with floating crystal arches. Dozens of staffs hovered mid-air, glowing with soft light. The moment had come.
One by one, students stepped forward, and the staffs responded.
A sleek silver staff shot into the hands of Tara Vell — an Adept Staff. The crowd cheered.
Another student received a Mythic Staff, its black crystal core pulsing with raw energy. Gasps followed.
Staff after staff flew into outstretched hands.
Luice stood silently, heart pounding.
And then… nothing.
The room fell still.
Every staff had chosen.
Except none had come to him.
A murmur began. Whispers turned to giggles. Then laughter.
"No staff even looked at him!"
"Guess he's not even worthy of an Initiate!"
"Hey Luice — maybe they ran out of trash-tier!"
Luice's breath trembled. His chest burned. Embarrassment and confusion twisted inside him.
He turned and ran — past the gates, through the crowd, and far into the woods.
The Mountain
The mountain trail was rough, but he didn't care. He knew this place — it had always been his escape. When his father died, when the world felt too heavy — this was where he came.
But this time, it felt different.
As he sat on a rock beneath the darkening sky, something… called to him.
A whisper.
"Come to me…"
He turned sharply. "Who's there?"
No answer. Only the wind.
But then he saw it — behind thick vines, half-hidden by rock — a cave. One he'd never noticed before.
Runes shimmered faintly around its edge, glowing deep crimson.
His instincts screamed danger, but curiosity won.
He stepped inside.
The Forbidden Chamber
The tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber — ancient, untouched by time. A dark throne sat at its center, and behind it stood something breathtaking.
A staff.
Dark red. Ancient. Frozen inside a pillar of bloody ice.
Luice approached slowly. The air grew heavy. The staff hummed.
And then — with a deafening crack — the ice shattered.
The staff flew forward, striking him in the chest.
But instead of knocking him back… it vanished into him — like smoke slipping into his soul.
He gasped, falling to his knees. A searing rune burned itself onto his arm. His eyes flared with red light — and then everything went dark.
The Awakening
When he woke, the sky was light again.
Birds chirped.
He was lying on soft grass outside the cave, the entrance now sealed behind stone.
Luice sat up, confused, heart racing. Was it real?
He looked down at his hand.
There — faint but glowing — was the mark of the staff.
The world had rejected him.
But something ancient… had chosen him.
To be continued…