While Adam and Desmond toiled for Louis until the sky darkened and the wind blew cold, soone stirred on the western edge of the noble district, where castles didn't rise, pedestrians didn't venture, and enforcers abhorred every second assigned to work at this bestial building.
Those enforcers often joked about how the mana restraining bars resembled fangs, how they felt trapped inside a colossal stomach in the damp darkness that obscured enchanted walls, and how the stench of humans left to rot for centuries clung to them even after they received new assignnts.
But even over the freshest barrels of ale, when they were barely able to walk straight after their shifts, there was a place none ever joked about—the fifth underground floor. This was no beast, no. It was a hell that housed devils in human skin, the worst Brineheart had ever birthed: mages like thorns in their feet, or brambles even in Haldris' hand. Banishnt wouldn't work. They were too dangerous, their lives a threat to the archipelago. And yet, these eight powerhouses remained chained in the darkness.
Silent. Waiting. For what?
Hope had long died in this forsaken place. Unable to live, unable to die, and yet, they endured.
And today, mana-suppressing chains rattled with gleeful clangor, and a voice that sounded like sandpaper on dry bark pierced the eternal silence.
"I told you years ago."
The seven others didn't answer, didn't move, didn't peer through the darkness. Though it had beco a friend closer than their wives after countless years, they still couldn't pierce through it, see the rising sun, or even the horrors they had been living in. But the first didn't mind the silence. He took the opportunity to remind them.
"Of crystals were our walls and of gold were our fields. Masons rushed to bear witness to Orrivandrel's splendor, the city we called our hearts—our ho. A ho built on the wild stubbornness and unbending will of nature, girted by Shamara, the river of sparkling waters."
"When human armies of mages that could chill lava and boil the sea demanded submission. When werebeasts on their colossal mounts shattered the ground with every step and devoured parents, and wives, and children. When dusk had fallen on our good people, they raised the black star with jagged edges banner over Orrivandrel walls for all to see their defiance."
"But in this kingless city, a man and his wife were the first to understand that pride and spite wouldn't win these wars. Riding waves and gales, they left the safety of their hos; they charged over the golden fields turned into scarlet ashes, behind the enemy lines, behind their leaders. They unleashed spells that had once been called failures, chaos shaped by magic into an elental onslaught. Outpost towers and tents of reinforced silk shattered, and enemies dispersed in horror. In the ruins, they grinned. They had protected their hos."
"Her na was Cordelia de Caligo, whose beauty made trees flourish, as if only to make her smile. His na was Leoric Caelmorne, whose courage resounded so far after his victory that the best complint anyone could give a man was to say he had Leoric's heart. Sing their victorious nas, sing for Orrivandrel's unbroken blades, a couple of incompetent mages made royalty."
"When demons crossed into our realm, the black star with jagged edges fluttered on every battlefield. Even when the humans who had once wanted their submission pleaded for help from the edge of the realm, they crossed the distance without a glance back. They instilled terror into the invaders' demonic hearts and carved it into their flesh. But as the wind of victories blew the dust from the battlefield, ssages from Orrivandrel reached them. Their ho, their heart, was in danger."
"They were too far away to do anything but despair, too far to hope for anyone to survive, for when demons went sowhere, it ant the end of it. But Leoric gave a command, and brave n, bloodied and covered in sweat, left the field of victory to follow. They rushed back through mountains and rivers as if wings pushed their boots until they returned to a besieged city. Demons surrounded the river, their juggernauts towering like unholy hills. Grolars hurled boulders like pebbles against the walls, and hezrous poisoned the waters."
"But they had made it in ti. The crystalline walls still stood. With renewed hope, they reclaid the bridge. The other kings had said on their way back, 'Hold on for three days until help arrives'. But they were outnumbered five to one and weaker. How were they to hold on for three days when death would claim them in hours?"
"The city was lost, and they urged the good people to flee. But farrs, shepherds, and woodcutters raised bows, forked pitches, and axes to join the army—to defend their ho. Won joined them too, with whatever weapons they could wield against the fearso demons. Together, they held on for an hour, a day, then two. When the sun rose on the third day, they still fought. Yet the promised reinforcent never ca, and they tasted betrayal from the very kings they had saved."
"Weep if you have a heart, for Cordelia de Caligo, the gentlest and most beautiful woman, who died on the battlefield. Weep for the good people who died dreaming of a tomorrow. Weep for their forgotten mories. Weep for Leoric Caelmorne, who held his wife's body in a sea of blood."
"His grief was as though his heart had been torn from his chest. But the culprits were still surrounding him. In his rage, he drew more mana than any man he had ever seen do—enough to blast the bridge to cut the demon's retreat. His organs ruptured, his own blood covered him, but sothing new erged. Organs pulsing with mana, granting him the power to obliterate his enemies."
"Orrivandrel's crystal walls lted, the palace's towers toppled, and stones evaporated under the inferno of his grief. Demons tried to flee. Many drowned in Shamara, and even more died stomped by their companions' retreat. But Leoric had lost his ho, lost his lover. The hole in his chest would never be filled until all the demons died."
"Ever since, forr allies and foes labelled him the wild magic tar, the chaos terrorist, the shadow that hides behind the throne of lying tyrants."
He gripped the bars, leaning toward the cell of the eighth prisoner while holding his side where his liver was. "I'm Leoric Caelmorne, the blade of Orrivandrel, the demon bane, the justice that strikes through chaos. I trusted you back then, gave up on what made my fury justice... Look at the result."
"But fret not," Leoric snickered. "My wait shall not be vain. The room has opened, and the black star with jagged edges will once more rise."
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AN: The eight backstories will draw the complete picture. So be patient, please :D
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