The flames danced across the night sky like a chorus of fiery spirits, reaching and grasping with outstretched fingers for building after building in their race to feed an insatiable hunger. If not for the destruction they wrought upon the town of Jehk, the embers they cast into the dark sky might almost have felt welcoming—a beautiful display of light against the darkness.
But whatever illusion the blaze might have suggested, the reality was something far different. Far worse.
The air was choked by the acrid smell of smoke and char, mingling with the cries of villagers and the wails of children trapped within the inferno that engulfed the doomed town. The sounds of anguish and despair echoed through the night sky, answered only by unearthly and alien howls that cut many of those cries short with chilling finality.
Lowell Brandt stood at the center of the main thoroughfare, chaos all around him. His feet were rooted to the ground as if cast in stone. The road stretched out before him, like a canvas upon which the destruction of Jehk was being painted. Bodies lay still and unmoving, their blood feeding the earth of the village commons beneath them. The light of the fire swallowed the stars above the village, drowning out all other light. Where the fire wasn't, there was an almost unnatural darkness, deep and foreboding.
Around him, the village streets twisted and writhed like living serpents, their paths lost to the shadows and thick walls of smoke. The buildings themselves appeared to be melting, their wooden frames warped and twisted by some unseen force, as if they were being consumed from within by a hunger for destruction.
Despite the fire, tendrils of unnatural darkness darted in the alleys between the homes. As the fire continued to consume all in its path, the darkness crept forward, reaching for something, or someone.
Across from Lowell, amid the death and destruction, he saw a small child standing frozen in terror. The child's dark hair disheveled and his shirt torn. The young boy sobbed uncontrollably, clutching a stuffed animal in one hand and rubbing at the tears with the other. His attempt only served to spread the dirt and ash that had collected on his hands across his face, stinging his eyes and perpetuating the cycle. When the timbers of one of the buildings cracked, the boy jumped slightly and gripped the stuffed toy tightly with both his hands. His eyes red-rimmed from crying, he stared at the burning building before him, his gaze fixed on it as it collapsed in a shower of sparks.
"Run," Lowell tried to say, but the words caught in his throat.
The growl came from behind them both, low and menacing, it sent shivers down Lowell's spine. As if the darkness itself had come alive, he could feel a presence suffocating and ancient just beyond the edge of the shadows. A jolt of terror ran through Lowell as he realized they were being watched by something monstrous.
"Don't turn! Run!" Lowell yelled, but his shout was drowned out by the roar of the flames and the din of suffering. Despite their proximity, the child did not hear him. The child didn't move at first, frozen in place like a startled fawn. Fleeting hope filled Lowell, as he thought that perhaps the child had heard his plea. Then, slowly the child began to turn his head toward the sound.
At first, only its eyes which burned with an otherworldly red glow were visible. They cut through the shadow and were distinct amid the light of the fire. Lowell's mind raced. He tried to think of what he could do to save the child when he realized that he was looking at the creature not from where he had been standing moments before, but observing it through the child's eyes. He felt the boy's fear as well as his own acutely. They pressed on him, overwhelming him.
The creature loomed closer, its hot breath washing over them. Lowell knew how this ended.
As the child turned, facing the monster, Lowell felt his fear become a living thing, wrapping itself around his heart like a noose. Face-to-face with the creature, its maw opened shadow dripping from its sharp, pointed teeth. Then, the creature lunged forward. In a visceral response Lowell, as the child, threw his hands in front of his face, in the vain hope that this would save him. Lowell screamed along with the child, their voices lost in the cacophony of chaos and destruction as the world burned around them.
Lowell sat up from his bed, sweating and breathing heavily.
The early morning light was just breaking through the slats of his window. He slumped forward, resting his face in his hand, shaking. The pendant he always wore swung forward with this movement and, suspended by a thin rope, listlessly swayed back and forth. "Nightmares." He whispered the word, as if not wanting to call back the specter of the dream to haunt him in the daylight hours.
#
The chimes indicating the hour rang throughout the city. Dahncrest awoke, its citizens leaving the comfort of their beds and their homes, men and women made their way to their jobs while the youth hurried to attend one of the numerous academies throughout the city. The city was the largest of all the cities in Valendia. It was also one of the most advanced. Long ago, before the city became what it is now, Dahncrest was a massive, labyrinthine, complex of ruins. An enigmatic reminder of the once powerful civilization that had previously ruled the world.
While the central districts of the city were now densely populated and had mostly been transformed from ruins to a bustling city filled with the wonders of technology recovered from the lost civilization, the outskirts of the city were still a tangle of ruins. Dangerous, and illegal, to traverse without a guild permit. Roads, railways, and water routes provided access to and from the city for most visitors. Guilds made good money protecting wealthy merchants to and from Dahncrest, even if the main roads through the ruins were mostly safe due to regular patrols.
Dahncrest was the capital of the Guild Marches, part of the Midlands region of central Valendia. The city had been formed by the Great Guild Houses: Steel, Word, and Coin; it governed the independent guild-cities and its research into the ancient technologies of the past were responsible for the great many comforts the citizens of Dahncrest and the rest of the Guild Marches enjoyed.
To the citizens of Dahncrest the automotive carriages and the trolleys were a simple matter of convenience, having become commonplace only in the last few decades. It was no strange sight to see these inventions, as well as others. They drew power from onboard fuel sources or, in the case of the trolleys, the underlying network of ley lines that conveyed the necessary energy to power them.
They were part of the fabric of the city and were just as normal as the horse-drawn carriages that shared the streets with them. The streets of Dahncrest were lined with lamps that would emit light whenever it grew dark, in other areas central broadcasting stations provided updates on affairs of the city. All of these marvels were powered by aether—the same energy that fueled magic, though far more controlled and limited when used in technology.
All of these wonders, and yet Lowell Brandt had still managed to oversleep. It was his fault for having fallen back asleep following the nightmare that had disturbed his rest. Although that did not stop him from blaming the dormitory warden.
"Damn it, that lizard really hates me." Lowell muttered under his breath.
As Lowell sprinted down the street, his feet pounded against the pavement rhythmically as he raced to catch the trolley to the academy before it left. As he rounded the bend, his pace faltered. Before him, one of the trolleys had come to a grinding halt, derailed from the tracks with the front of its metal body twisted and mangled beyond recognition.
Several members of guilds involved with maintaining security in Dahncrest were already investigating the accident and speaking to possible witnesses.
Lowell sighed heavily. "Really?" He shook his head in disbelief. He looked off to his side, regarding the park as an alternate path. It wasn't as quick as the trolley would have been. "If I cut through there, I can get back on the main road without too much of a delay. I might even make it in time before the last bell."
He began to head for the park, pausing momentarily and looking back to the trolley and the wreck of wires and metal. Lowell shifted the long cloth-wrapped parcel slung over his shoulder. He wondered, briefly, what could have caused such a catastrophic failure. Shaking his head, he returned his focus to the immediate challenge: not being any later than he already was.
Lowell sprinted through the park, his pace beating a steady rhythm on the stone-paved path. He passed by the numerous, bustling, side streets of Oldgate. Their cobblestone roads lined with quaint shops, residences, taverns, and inns that seemed to have been plucked straight from a medieval tale. The warm smell of freshly baked bread drifted from "The Cozy Loaf" bakery, while the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoed from a nearby blacksmith's forge.
Heritage Park, among the oldest parks in Dahncrest, was a testament to the city's resilience. The city had once been a barren wasteland of ruins, avoided because of its dangerous reputation. Dahncrest rose from the ashes of those ruins. Thanks to the tireless efforts of the guilds, in particular the House of Coin, the ruins had been reclaimed and their districts transformed into a lush oasis amid the sea of ruins.
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The park's winding paths were lined with trees, planted over a century before, their gnarled branches twisted with age, while the sound of birdsong filled the air, a stark contrast to the desolate silence of the ruins that lay beyond the city walls.
As he ran through the park, he felt the weight of history, the echoes of centuries past whispering through the park's tranquil atmosphere, every rustle of wind through the late spring leaves the fragment of a story of Dahncrest's past.
Oldgate, where the Orus Guild Academy was located, was one of the first districts to be reclaimed from the ruins. Its streets were a warren of narrow alleys and wider moltar paved boulevards, lined with a mix of ancient buildings that had been rehabilitated and newer structures that seemed to blend seamlessly together. The district was home to many guilds, including the prestigious Ironhaven Blacksmiths, who had established their forge in the heart of Oldgate.
At its center point, the park gave way to a small pavilion surrounded by reflecting pools and finely laid stone. The path that Lowell followed arced along the depression with a steep hill leading downward separated by a partial stone wall and railing.
Beyond, Lowell could see the exit from the park and not far from that he saw the carefully crafted, yet aging, architecture of the Orus Guild Academy. Its stone facade was adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to tell but one story of Dahncrest.
As Lowell descended the path, the park's serene atmosphere gave way to a group of students taking up the majority of the path. Lowell could go around, but it would slow him down.
The students on the path caught his attention, their argument escalating as Lowell approached. Five students, four of whom were clad in Arclan's prestigious uniform and one from Orus. Arclan Guild Academy, although more recently founded, was one of the wealthiest and most powerful guild academies in Dahncrest. The student wearing the Orus Guild Academy uniform was trying to stand, clutching his side after what Lowell could only assume had been a punch or a kick that was delivered before he came upon the group. An Arclan student with dyed hair delivered another swift and vicious kick to his victim.
"Oof!" The thug's foot connected with the Orus student's ribs, sending him crumpling back to the ground.
Lowell halted a few meters away, surveying the scene. The young man from Orus was a second-year student from Orus Guild Academy, the same year as Lowell, yet he didn't recognize him from any of his classes. Not that it mattered; Lowell had never really made an effort to socialize or form friendships since enrolling in the academy.
"Robbie." A broad-shouldered Arclan student tapped Robbie's shoulder, drawing his attention away from Lowell.
"Not now, Werner! Can't you see I'm busy?" Robbie sneered, eyes gleaming with malice, running his hands through his short dyed hair unnecessarily.
Werner pointed at Lowell, then bluntly said: "he has a friend."
"Wha—" Robbie spun around, his gaze locking onto Lowell. "Wh—who are you?!" He was unable to hide his surprise behind his hostility.
Lowell's response was measured and detached. "Are you going to be long?" He glanced past them toward the park's exit. It was only a matter of time now before the last bells began ringing, signifying the start of classes.
Robbie snarled, refusing to back down. "No! We're not. Now, get out of here!"
As Lowell looked down at the Orus student, he kept his tone flat and uninterested. "I'm not looking for trouble. I need to get to class."
Robbie sneered, drawing his leg back for another kick. "Yeah? Then go around." Lowell didn't look particularly muscular to Robbie, nor did he have the sort of demeanor that suggested he might pose any sort of threat.
Lowell's response was curt and decisive. "That's not really an option." Robbie hesitated, retracted his kick, and turned back around.
"Oh, and why not?" Robbie laughed, eyes glinting with amusement. "You're actually here to help your buddy Bart? You and what army? There are four of us and I count one of you. You want to end up like your friend here?"
"I just—"
Robbie cut him off. "Teach this guy a lesson while I finish our business with Master Allston here." He emphasized the title venomously as he gestured toward the Orus student who was the target of their bullying.
"But Robbie..." Werner began to protest.
"DO IT!!" Robbie's voice cracked, revealing his frustration.
The big man shrugged and gave a sheepish glance at Lowell. "Sorry."
Lowell sighed in response. "You could've just let me pass."
Werner charged forward, fist cocked like a rock the size of Lowell's head. The other two students followed, though they lagged behind.
Lowell dropped the bag and the cloth-wrapped parcel to the ground, the parcel making a dull clattering sound as it landed. Lowell sidestepped Werner's punch, dodging it with ease. The displaced air brushed past his right cheek.
If he landed that, I'd be out cold. Lowell thought, shocked. He is not someone to be trifled with.
Luckily for Lowell, Werner had placed his weight behind the missed punch, leaving him unbalanced. Lowell seized the opportunity, launching a spinning kick that sent the burly student tumbling forward. This bought him time to focus on the other two students, who closed in with reckless abandon.
The first of the two attempted to tackle Lowell, but he brushed it aside. The second launched a wild combination of kicks and punches, each easily deflected by Lowell's swift reflexes. These boys were untrained, never having faced a real fight before.
Amateurs. A smirk played on Lowell's lips as he countered with a palm strike, catching one of the students in the upper chest just below his throat.
The Orus Guild Academy student who had been victim to Arclan's earlier brutality watched, impressed. He'd seen Lowell around campus but never paid much attention to him. Now, however, he couldn't help but notice the skill with which Lowell handled himself.
While Lowell was focused on the smaller students, Werner had recovered his balance. Bart's warning echoed behind him: "Brandt! Watch out!"
Lowell's gaze snapped to Bart's, his mind racing with urgency. Shit! I almost forgot... He planted his feet and braced for Werner's attack, feeling the big student's hands wrap around one of his arms, pinning it. His free arm was still available, but in that instant, another student landed a solid punch to Lowell's midsection, stealing his breath.
The momentary lapse didn't last long. As Werner pinned him and the other two students closed in, Lowell caught his breath and locked eyes with Robbie, who grinned with pleasure at having others do his dirty work. "You should have just let me pass." Lowell's voice was flat.
"Eh?" Robbie's expression turned quizzical, confused by Lowell's calm demeanor.
With Werner pinning one of his arms, Lowell shifted his weight and grabbed the big student with his free hand. In an instant he applied torque and leverage to fling Werner forward, into the other two students charging towards him. The sudden turn of events left the Arclan students stunned, their eyes wide in disbelief.
Werner collided with his fellow students, causing them to collapse to the ground. The hillside didn't help, as the three students tumbled down, their lack of balance and the graded surface sending them rolling away, leaving Robbie as the sole remaining Arclan student facing Lowell.
"Fine," Robbie growled, his frustration evident. "I'll handle this myself."
The boy's hand darted to his pocket with theatrical suddenness, emerging with a small folding knife. His grip was clumsy, fingers fumbling as he struggled to open it with what he clearly thought was an impressive flourish. The blade snapped out with a metallic click, and Robbie's eyes gleamed with misplaced confidence. "You'll be sorry you messed with me!"
His breathing remained steady despite the familiar rush. He'd seen this before—the way Robbie held the knife too tightly, the way he waved it around like a prop rather than a weapon. The boy was trying to look dangerous, but every movement betrayed his inexperience.
Lowell remained in his crouched stance, knees bent and weight balanced on the balls of his feet, the same position he'd held after throwing Werner moments before. To Robbie's untrained eye, Lowell looked small and vulnerable, hunched down like a cornered animal. But Lowell knew better. His low center of gravity gave him explosive power, coiled energy ready to spring forward or pivot away. The crouch was a fighter's stance, not a defensive retreat.
Robbie advanced with exaggerated steps, slashing the air in wide, showy arcs that would never connect in a real fight. Lowell's eyes tracked every motion, calculating distance and timing. The blade was still steel, still sharp enough to kill, but in Robbie's hands it was little more than a dangerous toy.
"That was stupid." Lowell eyed the knife in Robbie's hand.
"Shut up!" Robbie screamed, lunging at Lowell with an awkward, unskilled swing of the blade. The presence of the weapon had raised the stakes, but Lowell was still confident in his ability to handle himself.
Lowell snatched up the wrapped parcel and used it to deflect Robbie's attack. The knife dug into the cloth and severed the string that held it in place.
Robbie tried to grab the parcel to prevent Lowell from using it further, but his hand only grasped the cloth as Lowell backed away. The wrapping fell away like a theatrical curtain, revealing what had been hidden within: a wide-bladed sword still nestled in a worn leather sheath, the metal of the crossguard gleaming dully in the morning light.
Time seemed to freeze for Robbie in that moment. His knife suddenly felt like a child's toy compared to the weapon Lowell now held. The sword was longer than Robbie's arm, its hilt wrapped in worn leather that spoke of countless hours of use. This wasn't some decorative piece or academy training weapon. It was a real blade. One meant for real combat.
"What the hell...?!" Robbie's voice cracked, his bravado evaporating like mist. His face went pale, eyes wide with genuine terror. "Hey, man, I was just joking! Ha ha... ha..." The laugh came out as a nervous squeak as he began backing away, hands raised in surrender. "I didn't mean anything by it!"
"Too late." Lowell swung the blade still within its sheath. The extended reach of the weapon effortlessly struck the knife from Robbie's hand, sending it flying and sticking into the dirt. Lowell advanced two steps, closing the distance between them. For a brief moment, he exposed his back to Robbie before slamming the blunt end of the sheath into Robbie's chest with a loud thud.
Robbie doubled over, lost his breath, and crumpled to the ground, defeated.
