“In the ancient past of Aria, when the gods roamed the earth and magic flowed through the waters and winds so richly that you could see it with your eyes or taste it upon your lips, the races of man were still in their infancy. They were divided into many tribes and various city-states vying for power. It seems not much has really changed since those times, even now. Among these competing powers, one city-state rose above all the rest—Zarbar, home to the Zarbarian people. The Zarbarians, where once an advanced and ancient Civilization, that built a mighty empire that had no rival. Their strength of arms, mastery of the arcane arts, and technological innovations set them apart as the pinnacle of humanity. However, one day they mysteriously disappeared, leaving their empire to crumble into dust. Many believed the Zarbarians to be mere myth, a legend, as their banishment to the ash heap of history was so total. But if my adventures and experiences with Tharos have shown me anything, it is that many myths and legends were often far too real. And the city of Zarbar was just the beginning of this most important of lessons.”—Excerpt From the memoirs of Cenric Dellcreek.
A week passed without any further incidents. However, due to the mysterious deaths, security was heightened to its highest level. The movement in and out of the camp was closely monitored and reported regularly. Eilis, with his expertise in magic and sorcery, placed numerous magical wards around the camp and even summoned one of his most powerful familiars. It was a most horrifying of spectacles.
Although it resembled a huge elk, the similarities with the gentle and noble animal ended there. It appeared as if it had emerged from the nightmares of a madman. It was composed of wispy black smoke, had antlers as long as great swords, sharp spikes covering its entire body like spear tips, and hooves that resembled scythe blades rather than the typical cloven foot of such creatures. Cenric, whenever he spotted the creature while walking around the camp, would wonder what hellish plane this creature had spawned from. However, what was truly terrifying about it was its glowing red eyes that shone like a small bonfire, and how it would watch and stare directly into your eyes as if peering into your soul. It felt like being locked in the gaze of a predator, assessing you as its next prey. The amount of Mana required to summon and control such a creature was immense. Even a skilled mage like Eilis couldn’t sustain such a drain on his Mana reserves for long. Therefore, he would sacrifice many of his slaves to replenish his Mana, using their blood and life essence to fuel his power. Fortunately for Cenric, he wouldn’t be one of those slaves offered up for sacrifice.
It appears that he was considered too valuable as a slave to be used for Mana draining, and Thorag was likely being kept around due to Eilis’s personal interest. However, Cenric couldn’t find peace in this situation. The city itself filled him with dread, and the cries of the other slaves being drained only added to his unease. He felt completely powerless to help them, and it burdened him greatly. He was unable to assist those in need, except for bowing his head, as it was the only action he could take. The iron collar securely fastened around his neck ensured this. What distinguished his enslavement from others in similar situations was the enchanted magic embedded in the collar. Even if he managed to escape his captors, navigate the dangerous dead lands, and start a new life, as long as the collar remained, Eilis would track him down. No matter how quickly or far he ran, Eilis would inevitably find him.
Does it have to be this way? If only I had the power to do something about it, he thought to himself. If he were a strong man, not this skinny, small, and weak young boy, he would choke the life out of Eilis with his bare hands or run his sword through his chest, piercing through this sorcerer’s twisted heart. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong or brave enough to even try, and as such, all he could do was watch on.
The expedition into the city proceeded with a higher level of caution than usual. Instead of sending labourers and slaves to gather or carry valuables, heavily armed mercenaries and soldiers were deployed to scout and patrol every building, street corner, and alleyway for potential threats. This meticulous search was conducted inch by inch and mile by mile. However, the enormity of the city made this task nearly impossible, as it was larger than any city they had encountered before. Even Sanctus, the former capital city of the Inventus Empire and the largest city in all of Aria, was dwarfed by Zarbar, estimated to be roughly eight times its size. This posed a challenge for Eilis as he lacked the manpower and Mana needed to maintain enough familiars for the task. As a result, the city exploration was divided into districts. The mercenaries and soldiers would systematically investigate each district one by one, ensuring it was safe before sending in labourers and slaves to transport valuable items. This process would be repeated for each district they explored. Cenric listened in on numerous conversations around the camp during that week and learned that they had not yet found anything of significant value in the districts they had searched. This was disappointing to those hoping to find treasures worth a king’s ransom within the city walls. But all they found was nothing but trinkets, knick-knacks, and dust.
After a few days of exploration, a major discovery was made that was both puzzling and alarming. The expedition finally uncovered the fate of the previous expeditions when they stumbled upon the remnants of their abandoned campsites and the bodies of the explorers. The corpses had been stripped clean and left to decay, with most reduced to bare bones, now stark white in colour. Some bodies had been well-preserved, undergoing the process of mummification.
When the bodies were examined by Eilis’ personal doctor, Stigr, a middle-aged man of northern wilder background, he stood out from his barbaric kin whose main trade was war and battle. His expertise lay in healing and medicine. Upon examining the bodies, Stigr was taken aback by the precise and clean nature of the wounds. The slash or stab marks were made with a bladed weapon, likely a sword. The wounds were so clean and precise that only a master swordsman of the highest calibre could have made them. The only individuals who could match this level of skill were Elves or warriors from Kenshi. However, the Stigr considered the idea of one of them being responsible rather unlikely. Elves and the people of Kenshi were rare and tended to stay within their respective territories only venturing out unless absolutely necessary.
Cenric listened in and eavesdropped on the conversation with great interest. It seemed like his worst fears were being validated—they were not alone, and there was something in this city. Even though he wasn’t allowed to listen in, he suspected that he was being ignored because he was viewed as nothing but a speck of dust in Eilis’ eyes. Those dead, beady eyes saw all before him as nothing but tools.
If the previous information did not raise concerns for anyone in the camp, except for Cenric, the next discovery certainly did. Despite the good condition of the abandoned city of Zarbar, a closer examination by some of the engineers in Eilis’ party revealed that what initially appeared to be natural decay of the city’s infrastructure was, in fact, evidence of a widespread battle. This was no minor skirmish, but a city-wide conflict so intense that its remnants could be seen in every corner of the city – in homes, buildings, rooftops, and streets. There were weapon scrapes, scorch marks, and even some places that had been encased in glass. Strangely, no bodies, broken weapons, or armor were found. It was as if the battle had abruptly ended, with the combatants disappearing without a trace. As the teams continued their investigation, they discovered something else that required Eilis’ immediate attention. They came across parts of a magic circle carved into the city itself. Eilis was unable to decipher the Arcane script, as the Zarbarian language was extraordinarily complex. The only other languages that rivalled its complexity were those of dragons and elves, both of which shared similarities with Zarbarian. Eilis speculated that the magic circle may have been used for a ritual, but the exact purpose remained a mystery. He retreated to his tent for the rest of the week to study the Arcane formula in hopes of unlocking its secrets.
Eventually, the time arrived for Cenric to be summoned into the city, a moment he had been dreading all week. He was escorted along with the other slaves, walking through the city’s winding roads and streets. Despite his circumstances, he could not help but admire the beauty of the city. The vibrant colours, the symmetry of the houses and buildings, and even the perfectly shaped cobblestones that paved the roads, all created a mesmerising sight. The way the sand and light traces of snow delicately covered the structures added to the charm. Despite the city’s state of decay and neglect, it still held a certain allure, like a hidden gem obscured by the elements and scavengers. This city mirrored the land of Aria itself, where the ambitions of rulers and warlords were destroying the natural beauty. Despite the beauty of his surroundings, Cenric couldn’t shake off his sense of unease. Each step he took and every breath he drew chilled his blood and froze his heart to the core. Yet, he remained unaware of the source of these feelings as he pressed on. Carvings etched on the walls caught his eye, depicting people engaged in various activities, some showing individuals in the midst of battle.
I guess some things never change. Cenric thought to himself
However, what truly caught his attention were a set of carvings that adorned a nearby wall. These carvings depicted enormous floating ships descending from the sky, spewing fire onto the ground. Additionally, there were smaller three-legged ships unloading faceless figures onto the ground. These ships were almost insect-like in appearance, resembling a chrysalis from a butterfly or moth. In contrast, there were depictions of dwarven, elven, and human warriors, some of them riding dragons into battle. These warriors were also accompanied by massive, armoured figures that towered over them, adorned with intricate patterns on their armour and gems, shooting lightning from their fingertips at the floating and three-legged ships and other unfamiliar creatures. Cenric was unsure of what he was seeing. He had heard rumours about elves having floating cities powered by magic or dwarfs inventing some sort of flying boat called an airship. Although he had never seen such things himself, some travellers passing through his village of Dellcreek spoke of them. However, the carvings in front of him did not seem to depict these fantastical creations. The floating ships, the three-legged ships, and the armoured figures were unlike anything he had ever seen before. As he hurried along with the other slaves towards their destination, He then noticed the symbols on the wall under the carvings. Although he couldn’t understand the symbols accompanying the carvings, he quickly realised something—that these carvings and symbols were telling some sort of story. A story about what was the question. The carvings next depicted several burning cities, a land engulfed in flames, with a darkening sky, and fallen warriors scattered about like blades of grass. Massive floating ships and smaller three-legged ships dominated the scene. However, after this, there was what looked like a warrior riding a dragon into battle. He had hair like a lion’s mane and a thin but fearsome-looking face, carrying what looked like a massive lance in his hands, trailing behind him more dwarven, elven, and human warriors. However, after this, there were several breaks in the wall where the carvings abruptly ended, leaving the story they were trying to convey a mystery.
Eventually, they reached their destination, the district they were tasked with cleaning out like scavenging vultures. They spent the next few hours collecting loose coins, jewellery, cutlery, and even pieces of furniture in good condition to bring back to the camp. However, despite the intricate craftsmanship and beauty of the items, Cenric couldn’t shake off his disappointment. He questioned the purpose of their efforts and the true value of the items they were collecting. He couldn’t believe that Eilis would go to such lengths for mere trinkets and random junk.
As he pondered the reason behind their mission, Cenric couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more valuable hidden within the district. Something so precious that it warranted risking the lives of many adventurers and Eilis personally coming to acquire it. After hours of collecting, they were eventually sent back to the camp, with Cenric carrying a sack of valuables over his shoulder. The sack jingled as he walked along the stone road, lost in his thoughts.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Thorag. “What is it, Thorag?” Cenric said, turning his head to face Thorag.
“You seem more troubled than usual, Cenric. Is the city still giving you the chills?” Thorag said, his wrinkled face softening into a small smile as if to ease Cenric.
“If it was just that, Thorag, it wouldn’t bother me at all.”
“Then what is bothering you?” Thorag asked in a hushed whisper, making sure the few mercenaries and soldiers escorting them couldn’t hear.
“It’s just… all this effort for this,” Cenric said, gesturing to the sack he was holding.
“Cenric, it’s not our place to question our betters.”
Before Thorag could finish his sentence, a loud noise that sounded like a whistle interrupted him. Everyone froze to locate the source of the noise, and in an instant, one of the soldiers escorting them had his head severed, blood spurting from the stump where his neck once was, splattering onto the stone road. Cenric and the others stood in shock as a cloaked figure emerged on the scene. This figure was unlike any man they had ever seen, sleek and graceful, yet faceless and seemingly composed of liquid metal, with arms and legs shaped into sharp blades. As the figure approached, several mercenaries and soldiers attempted to engage it, only to be effortlessly cut down within seconds. The scene was horrifying, and in the chaos, one of the slaves shouted, “Run!” The group scattered, dropping their belongings as they fled. Cenric and Thorag found themselves separated from the others, navigating the winding streets and alleyways in a panic. Their hearts raced as they realised they were not alone; multiple similar figures were pursuing them and the rest of the group, some giving chase while others headed towards the camp.
“What do we do?” Cenric asked, his breath quickening.
“Run and then hide,” Thorag replied.
“We just need to outrun…” Before Thorag could finish his sentence, Cenric noticed a massive hole that had opened up in Thorag’s chest as one of the creatures closed in. With a swift strike of its bladed arms, it bisected the old man in half, his upper torso falling to the ground and his lower torso dropping to the ground.
“Thorag!” Cenric shouted, tears streaming from his bright green eyes. He shook his head, trying to hold back the emotions welling up inside him. He knew he had to escape, to flee from this chaos. Ignoring the cacophony of screams and battle sounds reverberating through the once desolate city, he sprinted as fast as his little legs could carry him. Cenric darted down another alleyway, only to come face to face with a towering wall blocking his path. It was a dead end. As he turned to retrace his steps, a metallic figure closed in on him, cornering him with his back pressed against the unforgiving wall.
Am I going to die here? he thought to himself, as his face contorted into a mask of pure terror. He tried to steel himself for the impending death, closing his eyes tightly. His life began to flash before his eyes—his short thirteen years of life were going to end in the back alley of an abandoned city in the middle of a desolate wasteland. Such a tragic and ignoble death for someone so young. However, if Cenric had anything going for him, it was luck, and luckily for him at this crossroads between life and death, fate was about to intervene. But would this luck be enough?
Before the figure could close in on him with its bladed arms, Cenric heard a noise. Opening his eyes and looking upwards, he saw a flash of something moving. From above on the rooftops, striking with the speed of a bird of prey, a mysterious hooded figure entered the fray and stood between him and the metallic figure. With lightning-quick speed, the two figures clashed. The only things Cenric could see and hear in that moment were the sparks of their blades and the sound of metal on metal as they clashed. After several tense seconds, the mysterious figure, with speed faster than the eye could see, slashed his blade right into the metallic figure’s chest, cutting away a glowing red orb stuck on the blade that flickered for a few seconds before turning gray. The metallic figure crashed to the ground with a thud. The mysterious figure then turned towards Cenric, pulling down the hood of the cloak to reveal his messy black hair. What Cenric saw before him was a handsome young man who was tall and lean. He had rather tanned skin, a hawk-like face, and amber-colored eyes. His clothing, armour, and weapons were a patchwork and mishmash of whatever seemed to be available to him. However, there was something off about him that Cenric couldn’t quite figure out. Cenric stood there, staring at his mysterious saviour for what seemed like hours until the tension was broken when he heard a voice in his head.
(“Do not be afraid, young one. My name is Tharos, and I am here to help,“) the figure said with a warm smile. Although he thought the smile was more for him than something this figure was genuinely capable of expressing. He nodded slowly to acknowledge the voice in his head. Little did they both know at the time, this awkward encounter was the start of a beautiful friendship.
