"Hold on! Are you sure that's safe? It was hidden for a reason!" Owen protested, bouncing after him.
Axelius just chuckled, his fingers already brushing over the edges of the ancient cover. "Come on, Owen. Since when did I ever listen to 'safe'?" he replied with a smirk.
Axelius set the black book down on the polished oak table, its weight heavier than he expected. The golden linings shimmered faintly under the soft glow of the chandelier above, casting strange reflections onto the wood. Owen bounced up onto the table beside him,
Axelius brushed his fingers over the smooth surface once more, taking a deep breath before cracking it open. The leather binding groaned, as if it hadn't been touched in centuries. A puff of dust escaped, swirling around them before settling back onto the table. "Damn, how old is this thing?" Axelius murmured, wiping his eyes.
The first page was blank—yellowed with age, but untouched by ink. He flipped to the next, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Axelius raised an eyebrow. "A tale? Like a fairytale?" he said aloud, glancing at Owen.
Owen bounced slightly, "Maybe it's just some kind of family legend," he said, stretching to get a better view.
Axelius shrugged and turned the page, revealing the first line of text. He began reading aloud.
Long ago, under the shadow of a crimson moon, two heirs were born into the Dravenhart bloodline—an ancient family renowned for its mastery over mana and its deep ties to the Beast realm.
The firstborn was named Lorian Dravenhart, and his younger twin was called Lucian Dravenhart. From the moment they were born, it was clear that they were complete opposites. Lucian was a prodigy, his mana core blazing with power even as a child. By the time he was five, he was already summoning magical beasts—dragons with shining silver scales and phoenixes with wings of fire. His magic was strong and pure, his aura bright and warm. People called him the Radiant Star of Dravenhart, a symbol of hope and strength.
Lorian, however, was different. He was born without mana. His body rejected magic entirely, his veins empty of the power that his family cherished. While Lucian flew through the skies on summoned dragons, Lorian watched from the shadows, his hands clenched, his heart heavy with envy. His tutors tried everything to help him learn magic, but nothing worked. It was as if his very soul rejected mana. He was called a Dravenhart only by name, just a shadow next to his brother's bright light.
And so, the whispers began. The cursed child, people said. The shadow of the Dravenhart family. Even his own father, the Duke, would sigh heavily whenever Lorian entered the room. "If only you had been born like your brother..."
The comparisons grew harsher as they grew older. Lucian could summon storms with a flick of his wrist, while Lorian struggled to light a single candle. Lucian was praised and adored, while Lorian was left alone in the cold halls of the estate. Bit by bit, Lorian's heart grew colder, filled with bitterness and anger.
One evening, when Lorian was thirteen, he wandered far from the estate, his footsteps leading him to the edge of the Blackwood Forest—a dark place known for whispers of evil magic and monsters lurking in the shadows. But Lorian, desperate and angry, stepped into the darkness without fear.
It was there he met a man named Arkanis, a dark wizard hidden in shadows, his eyes glowing red under his hood. His voice was like a whisper and a roar at the same time, echoing in Lorian's mind. "You seek power, boy?"
Lorian's fists clenched tightly. "I seek what I deserve," he replied, his voice strong even though his heart pounded with fear.
Arkanis chuckled, the sound cracking like dry bones. "Then take this... but know, it comes with a price."
In his hand lay a Core, black as night, pulsing with a dangerous and sharp energy. It was not a mana core. It was something else—dark and wild, almost alive.
Lorian hesitated only for a moment before grabbing it. The pain was instant and fierce, burning through his veins, twisting his senses. But when it ended, Lorian stood taller, shadows swirling around him like living creatures. His eyes glowed red, just like Arkanis's. He could feel it—power rushing through his veins. It was not mana; it was something darker, raw and untamed.
In the months that followed, Lorian's powers grew. While Lucian summoned beasts of light, Lorian called forth shadows. He tamed creatures of the night—Dire Wolves, Night Stalkers, even Wraith Hounds that fed on fear. His influence spread through the Blackwood, commanding monsters and corrupting the land. Plants withered when he passed by, the sky grew darker when he walked.
He returned to the Dravenhart estate, but not as Lucian's shadow. No, he came back as a conqueror. His monsters spilled out of the forest, covering the land with darkness. Guards fell before him, towns burned, and his father was left helpless. Lorian's grin was wide and unyielding as the estate burned, shadows licking the walls like living flames.
But Lucian would not give up so easily. The two brothers clashed in the middle of the burning estate—light against shadow. Lucian's dragons roared, their flames bright and pure, while Lorian's wraiths screamed, tearing at their scales. The battle went on for hours, neither side willing to give up. But in the end, Lucian stood victorious—barely.
Lorian, gravely injured, fled back into the shadows of the Blackwood, his monsters retreating with him. Lucian, broken and bruised, collapsed onto the scorched earth, his light flickering like a candle in the wind.
From that day on, Lorian was known as the Scourge of Dravenhart, a villain whose very name brought fear to even the bravest of knights. His whereabouts were unknown, but whispers spoke of his presence lingering, waiting, building his army of darkness deep within the shadows of the world.
The book ended with a single, ominous line: "And so the Shadow waits, for the blood of Dravenhart to once again call upon his name."