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Prologue

Archmage Telvrin sat perched at his desk, much like he was on any other night. The sounds of the bustle in the city of Akarshan still drifted through his open window.

Akarshan was a city of variety, with folk from all over Ryze, and even from the distant east, beyond the Treddian Mountains.

Located on the Sapphire Bay, the city was the largest of its kind in the region. Alas, it may have been the only remaining city of the old kingdom to retain much of its former glory.

The Academy was primarily to thank for that, as it gathered promising young mages from all over the realm to study the true nature of magic. That which transcended the archaic notions of a divine source.

Telvrin sat back in his comfortable chair, rubbing his weary eyes. Grey and bloodshot, they were tired from more than just long hours poring over books and scrolls.

Age was beginning to catch up to the man, he knew. Perhaps, he would be able to slow or even prevent the end, like the masked man had claimed?

He could still remember the day he met the man. How foolish he'd been then, as he gazed upon the strange seal.

While wandering the lower corridors of the tower, the very same ones that housed their dangerous or rare creatures, he encountered an old trapdoor.

The man chuckled to himself, remembering how rash and rebellious he'd been in those days.

That door. By the dust gathered there, it likely hadn't been opened in a century.

The corridor it led to has since become well familiar to him. The dark corridors now flickering in the eternal flames of the torches he'd enchanted so long ago. Thirty years? Forty?

He'd lost track, as time seemed to blend together over so long. It hadn't helped that his days were now filled with tedious and petty affairs, both with the responsibilities of the academy and the government of Akarshan falling to him.

He could well remember the events of that day, however. The corridor ended in an old door. Rather unremarkable, save for the fact that someone went to extreme lengths to keep it hidden.

With an audible groan, the old door pulled open, revealing a small room with an old open well. Not your typical small village well, mind you, but one that consumed the entire center. One that's depths reached down into blackness, save for a strange flickering light in the distance, rippling through the water like a light in a storm.

Telvrin could remember when he had walked the entire circumference of the room, gazing at the light. He could hear something. Whispers, perhaps?

Something else caught his notice. Stairs.

They seemed to spiral down into the depths of the water, diving deep to the place where the light danced.

A simple muttered spell had allowed him to breath water as if it were air, and he took the plunge.

It was to his great surprise that the water lasted for only about ten feet. He burst forth, tumbling down the remaining stairs, and onto the ancient stone of the chamber below.

A quick glance up to the ceiling confirmed his suspicions. The water sat suspended above him in place, giving the illusion of a full well. He glanced around, noting tunnels forking off in every direction from the main chamber he now found himself.

Fascinating! He had thought to himself, taking in the sights.

There had to be some reason all this was hidden away. An entire network of caverns and tunnels beneath a magic academy was bound to hold some secrets.

The glow of silver caught his attentions once more, and he turned to the center of the chamber, eyes falling on a strange glyph of some kind.

Silver light leapt from the etched runes like flames, and as he examined it, a strange emotion came over him. Excitement? Fear?

He drew near, recognizing the rune lettering as that of the druids, though he was not versed in their meaning.

And then, the voice.

Even now, over the span of decades, that voice inspired both awe and dread.

“Why have you come, young mage?" it had asked in a deep hiss. There was no source to the noise. It did not radiate from the glowing runes, nor the walls or the water. It was just there, penetrating every molecule that seemed present for the exchange.

“I-I w-was just exploring!" He had stuttered. Gods he was a coward then, before the masked man.

“Beware, the beast roams these halls. He will seek to end you for speaking to me." The voice stated.

“B-Beast?" he asked.

“Tell me, mage, are you a seeker of knowledge? Of power?" the voice asked, ignoring his question.

“I'm not sure what you mean."

“So many of your kind pursue magic for power. They view it as the release from a world of toil. The promise of manipulating the world to better suit themselves." It stated.

“I suppose so, then." He replied.

“There is great knowledge here, mage. The beast would kill you for knowing such things. That is why they have locked us away. But you, mage. You can change that."

Telvrin glanced at the glowing rune, unsure of where else to direct his words.

“How?"

“It is simple, really. Just touch the center of the seal." The voice almost whispered now. He could feel a presence in the room, and in himself.

With trembling legs, Telvrin stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the runic writing. The silver fire leaped up at his robes painlessly, and he crossed to its center. Kneeling cautiously, he lowered his left hand, placing it on a spiral there.

Suddenly, a flash erupted in the room, first of bright silver, and then, of pure darkness.

Telvrin was slammed backwards, tumbling to the ground in a daze.

A snort behind him brought him too, and he twisted around to see a large boar entering from one of the many side tunnels.

The creature was massive, with large tusks that protruded threateningly from his face.

What are you doing here?! A new voice demanded, this time, originating in his mind.

“What?! Nothing, I just stumbled upon a trap door!" he had tried to explain, eyeing the boar. An older Telvrin would have recognized the fear in the tone of the creature's demands. He would have also known of the Naettura, the ancient pseudo-deities of the druids.

The boar edged around cautiously, eyes falling on the rune. Telvrin's eyes followed it's, noting the lack of silver flames.

What have you done! The voice roared in his head, accompanied by a snort from the boar.

Before Telvrin could react, the beast charged forth, barreling towards him at a great speed.

Telvrin, still prone on the ground, braced himself for impact.

A great squeal from the animal brought his attention back, and he saw a large blade of black-steel protruding from the beasts side.

The weapon was gripped by a man clad in black robes, his face concealed behind a featureless and eyeless black mask.

The fire had nearly died down in his study. Archmage Telvrin rose to place another log there, momentarily relieved from his memories.

A storm was rolling in from the north, one that brought with it thunder and heavy rain.

Telvrin dropped a second log on the flames, before blowing to encourage them to grow.

Rising, he nearly jumped back into the fireplace, as a massive form was suddenly there, shrouding the moonlight pouring in from the window. The candles on his desk snuffed out with a simple gust, leaving trails of smoke between him and the immense creature.

He couldn't make out features, but the voice that came from the cloaked figure was all too familiar, even if somewhat...changed. It was the voice of the masked man, though deeper, guttural.

It was the Harbinger of Malmyrkrys. The masked man.

His silhouette was larger than the last time he laid eyes upon him. Perhaps it was merely that he had forgotten how truly menacing the aura he gave off was. The mind is a powerful distorter of fact.

Telvrin could not see the shadow open its mouth to speak, but a cold chill swept across the room as the words drifted to him.

“It is time, mage."