The stones of creation E-Book

M. Joseph

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 763

Beschreibung

Long ago, the world Daraen was forged by the High Aedan, the children of the divine Ahar, using seven sacred stones - gifts from the one and only goddess, Iah. But not all of them were content with their creation. Urehel, Lord of Darkness, cast a shadow over the world, unleashing terror and death upon its lands. Now, an ancient evil stirs once more, and the question remains: Can Urehel be truly defeated? Can the hatred he sowed into the hearts of the firstborn humans ever be uprooted? Or will a new breed of darkness, more cruel and relentless than Urehel himself, rise to plunge the world into yet another age of despair? The fate of the world hangs in the balance, as old legends clash with the terrifying possibility of an even greater, more dangerous enemy.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

1

In the autumn of the year 887 of the Third Age in the new reckoning, a girl named Marániel was born in the opulent port city of Dinambad, a renowned seat of the Princes of Miénast for generations. To those around her, she was known simply as Mara. At first glance, she seemed entirely ordinary, a fourth child overshadowed by three elder brothers, destined for a life of little consequence within the family’s history. Yet, there was an undeniable sense, a subtle but palpable aura, that marked her as something exceptional, as though destiny itself had woven her into a tapestry of singular importance.

The names of her brothers were Enwir, the eldest, who was the heir to their father, the Prince of Dinambad; Anwar, the second-born, a station that bore little honor; and Diam, the third son. Each of the Prince’s children was graced with hair of remarkable smoothness and beauty, though - except for Enwir, whose locks shone with threads of golden-blonde - they were distinguished by tresses of deep, almost raven-black hue. In this, they mirrored their father, Prince Ráhad, who was not only the ruler of Dinambad but also the brother-in-law of Dinhad II, the Warlord of Miénast, having wed Ráhad’s elder sister, Aminas. All bore the same striking eyes, gray with a subtle glimmer of blue, as if the very essence of the ocean’s waves had been ensnared within their gaze.

Ráhad’s beloved wife, Iornieth, was taken by a swift and merciless fever in the very hour of their daughter’s birth. Thus, Mara became the only child who would never behold her mother’s face, while her brothers, mere children themselves at the time, soon let slip from memory the gentle visage of the one who had borne them. Only Prince Ráhad remained haunted by the beauty of Iornieth. Though he might have longed to relinquish such bittersweet remembrances, her enchanting smile - so full of life and love - clung to his mind, ever beyond the reach of forgetfulness.

Yet, despite their loss, the children of Prince Ráhad wanted for nothing. Ráhad, a man of immense wealth, had been beloved by the proud and willful people of the grand port city since his earliest years. And as a father, he spared neither expense nor effort in his unrelenting desire to surround his children with every comfort and joy that his vast fortune could provide, determined to fill their lives with happiness in whatever way he could.

On the very day Mara entered the world, and only hours after her mother’s life had been claimed by fever, a young and mysterious stranger arrived at the gates of the city. She sought an audience with the grieving, clearly overwhelmed Prince, offering her services to tend to the newborn child. Her name was Adraéth. Though she wore her hair skillfully braided, concealing the pointed tips of her ears, it did not take long for the townsfolk to recognize her for what she was - one of the Immortal Folk, the Aedan. Whispers soon spread through the streets. What business could such a being have in their land? And why did she remain so faithfully by Mara’s side? Some, in their ignorance and fear, even muttered dark suspicions, claiming she might be a witch, with sinister designs on the child, using her for purposes only the shadows could know.

Yet any lingering suspicions soon faded like mist in the morning sun, for Adraéth proved herself over the years to be a devoted guardian. She tended to Mara with unmatched care, and, from the moment she first cradled the infant in her arms, she loved her as though she were her own. Like a mother full of tenderness and devotion, she wrapped Mara in the warmth of her heart, dispelling the fears of all who had once doubted her intentions.

It was on a warm afternoon, as Mara, now a young child, sat by the well in the palace gardens, that Adraéth began one of her tales. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, her voice carrying a soft lilt of enchantment. "On a vast island, once barren and deserted, nature showed kindness to the few survivors of a mighty wave that had swallowed the island of Tanuhal, their former home. As they landed on the shores of this new land, the untouched fields bloomed, plants sprang from the earth, and clear, drinkable streams gushed from springs high in the mountains, winding their way through the unspoiled landscape."

Mara, perched on the stone bench beside her, listened with wideeyed wonder as Adraéth continued, "King Manardur II, one of the last of the Haládan bloodline, settled with his loyal followers on the westernmost coast of this great island, naming it Farham – Distant Home in Haldron. There, they built a grand harbor city of white marble and bright stones, calling it Dinambad. For many years, ships sailed from its docks, searching the vast unknown world for other survivors. But their efforts were in vain. Rarely did the sailors return, and those who did came back with empty hands and heavy hearts. Many were lost forever, swallowed by the endless sea. The few who made it back seemed reluctant to speak of what they had encountered, as if the great expanse of Ymbsetta, the encircling sea, hid secrets too dreadful to reveal. Their only answer was always the same: There is nothing out there.”

Adraéth paused, casting a lingering gaze upon the girl, as if weighing her next words carefully. "But the ships only ever sailed west and south. Never had they ventured to the north or the east. Farham may be vast, but do you know what lies to the east of this world?”

Startled, Mara lifted her head. "That’s not part of the story.”

"Every day you ask me to tell you more of this world, and yet you always return to this same tale.”

"Because you’ve never told me how it ends.”

"For good reason,” Adraéth said gravely. "For the story has no end - not yet. So, can you answer my question?”

Mara blushed, lowering her head in embarrassment. "No, I cannot. But I don’t believe the east is only water. That’s what lies in the west and south. And what’s in the north? Will you tell me?”

"When the time is right,” Adraéth replied gently. "But not yet. Now, let me continue: After King Fheran, Manardur’s great-grandson, ventured further east into Farham and reached the silver forest of Faldar, he encountered other inhabitants for the first time. A strange unease settled over him, and he began to worry for his people and their ancestral treasures. He ordered the construction of a grand fortress in the foothills of the greatest gray mountain of the Tin Uael, called the Mâhl. This fortress was surrounded by three massive walls of stone and an enormous crescent-shaped rampart. Once completed, Fheran moved there and named it Mahlrit, making it the new capital of the Kingdom of Miénast. Though the people of Faldar were peaceful and had no ill will toward the newcomers, Fheran never fully trusted them and kept them at arm’s length.

What he did not know, however, was that long before the dawn of men, centuries before the Firstborn of Haládan saw the light of day, the Aedan had already walked the lands of Farham. They were tall and slender, their hair golden and smooth, their eyes the color of the sky. Their pointed ears marked them unmistakably as different from men. Among them, the highest of their kind - only seven in total - were crowned with snow-white hair. The Aedan were immortal, having lived since the dawn of creation of Sedäa, the Aerin name for Farham. Though they could not die from age, their hearts were not beyond breaking. Their fate was to love but once, for eternity. Should their beloved perish, their hearts would shatter, and many who could not bear the grief chose to end their lives, hoping to be reunited in the sacred halls of the First Mother, high above in the Mencael, the eternal heavens.”

Adraéth took a deep breath, her eyes clouded with memory. "The High Aedin Mylias ruled over Faldar. She was kin to Elfor, Lord of Dunhir to the north, and Thergil, leader of the Aedan in the forest of Thrad. Together, they were the last of the seven High Aedan on all of Sedäa.

In his fear and greed, King Fheran fell ill and died without an heir at the age of 21. His younger sister, Fhara, was crowned as the first Queen of Miénast, moving her seat to the splendid gardens of Folares in the northwestern foothills of Tin Uael.

Nearly three hundred years later, King Mandir, the ninth ruler, had two sons, Miendir and Andor. A petty quarrel divided them, splitting the Haládan people in two. Miendir, as the firstborn, ruled Miénast from Mahlrit, while Andor, along with a few loyal followers, settled on the northeastern side of Tin Uael. There, amid fertile lands and flowing streams, he built the city of Suthawen and encircled it with wooden palisades. This small, unassuming village quickly grew into the capital of the newly formed Kingdom of Anros. Though the land was rich and fertile, it was also wild and dangerous, earning its reputation as the Wilderness.

Taladan, Miendir’s grandson and the son of Taradan, who was slain by a monstrous creature, was-"

Mara sighed. "Do you expect me to remember all of this?”

Adraéth smiled faintly. "If my stories bore you, all you have to do is say so, and I will hold my tongue.”

"No!” The girl sat up, startled. "Please, continue! I want to hear the whole story.”

Adraéth’s smile softened. She took another breath and continued, "Taladan was one of the first rulers of the divided kingdoms to face war. Far to the northeast, beyond Tin Elwech, beyond any lands men had ever dared to explore, protected by the impenetrable Iron Cage - a towering mountain range forming a massive ring with only one narrow southern entrance - a shadow rose, unnoticed. The land, known as Um-Atra, or Dead Land, was encircled by the Iron Mountains. There, in secret, a dark sorcerer had long been breeding an army of terrible creatures. He called the smaller ones Celkûn, twisted humanoid figures with hunched backs, brown skin, sharp claws, and two long, deadly tails. The larger beasts he named Nemar, their gray, scaly skin leathery and nearly impenetrable, their misshapen claws bearing only four fingers each.’

Adraéth hesitated, her words growing heavier with each passing breath. "The sorcerer who led them, more powerful than anything before him, was named Urehel. He was the Master of Darkness and Despair. Once, he had been one of the Firstborn, one of the seven High Aedan, who had descended to this young world along with his brothers and sisters. Together, they had shaped the mainland of Sedäa, with its vast lakes, towering mountains, and lush forests, a gift bestowed upon them by their creators in Mencael.”

Adraéth paused again, her gaze piercing into Mara’s. "Do you remember the names of the High Aedan?”

Mara frowned in concentration. "There were seven, right? Laeva and Argeniel, who created all plants and animals. Thergil, who shaped the waters with rivers and lakes, and now dwells in the forest of Thrad, watching the sea. Elfor, Lord of Life after Death, who lives in Dunhir in the northern peaks of Tin Elwech. Mylias of Faldar, the Lady of Love and Kindness. The mightiest was Vaago, who commanded the light that shined upon all worlds. And the one who is no longer counted among them, the one who turned against his own kind, seeking to rule them all but who must not be forgotten, was Urehel.” Mara looked up at Adraéth with wide eyes. "Will you tell me about the Battle of a Thousand Deaths that took place before the gates of Um-Atra, where the Sea of Shed Tears now lies?”

Adraéth sighed with weariness in her voice. "Not tonight, my dear. It is already late. Perhaps tomorrow, if time permits.” Her expression was troubled, but the reason for her unease remained a mystery, even to Mara. "But we are far from that part of the tale, for it was not Urehel who met his end there.”

"Then who?”

Adraéth’s eyes darkened as she gazed down at the girl. "If you wish to hear the whole story, you must learn patience, child.”

Many days had passed since that time, yet Adraéth had found no further moments to share with Mara the tales of the ancient ages, for as the years slipped by and Mara grew older, her nights became haunted by ever more dreadful dreams.

"Is it the shadow again?” Adraéth asked gently, cradling the weeping girl in her arms.

Mara was silent for a long time, her tears flowing freely. It was rare for her to speak of her dreams, for she could not make sense of them herself, and so she kept them locked away, unspoken.

But on this day, something shifted, and she found the courage to speak. "It’s growing,” she whispered, her voice trembling. "Like a tree or a flower, but it needs no light. It feeds on the darkness, as if the shadows alone give it strength. In the north - far to the north - hidden behind the Iron Mountains, beneath the black clouds... it’s there, growing.” As she spoke, her gray eyes widened with terror. "I cannot see it, not really. For it has no form - not like us. But I can feel it, so close, and it hurts me.” Her sobs came faster, her breath shallow. "It knows my name. It calls to me, again and again, until I see it - the shadow.” Her body began to shake uncontrollably, curling in on itself with fear.

Adraéth held the trembling girl close, her heart aching as she watched Mara suffer under the weight of these relentless nightmares. "It will be alright, my child,” she murmured softly, though the words rang hollow, as if she were trying to soothe her own growing dread. "It was only a dream. The shadow cannot touch you here. In Dinambad, you are safe - no matter what comes, I will always protect you.”

Yet that day, as those words left her lips, there was a trace of doubt in her voice, a silent fear that perhaps even her strength might not be enough to shield the girl from the darkness that seemed to be reaching for her from the north.

As the dreadful nightmares persisted night after night, growing ever more harrowing, Adraéth knew she had to act swiftly. For the first time since her arrival, she departed Dinambad, vanishing for several days, and returned with an elderly man. Where she had ventured during her absence remained shrouded in mystery, for Adraéth revealed nothing, as though she had never been gone.

Her companion was clad in a long, dark brown cloak, beneath which he wore a similarly colored, flowing robe secured with a weathered leather belt at his waist. His chestnut beard, cascading down to his knees, was intricately braided to manage its length, though streaks of gray were evident, marking the passage of time. His piercing gray eyes, set beneath thick, dark brows, had the uncanny ability to penetrate the most obstinate of minds, guiding them with a wisdom that seemed both ancient and profound.

"You should have come to me sooner,” he murmured to Adraéth as he knelt swiftly beside Mara’s bed. The girl, her eyes clouded with confusion, glanced up at him. "Do not be afraid, my child,” he said, his voice like a warm breeze after a storm. As he smiled, a gentle light seemed to fill the room, washing over every corner. "I am Dartur, one of the three wizards. I’ve come to lift the burden that weighs upon your heart.”

"I’m not afraid.” Mara shook her head, a sparkle of joy returning to her eyes. She sat up eagerly, wanting to study the old man more closely. "You don’t look like someone who means me any harm. You’re really a wizard? Can you show me a spell, or something magical? I’d love to see that.”

Dartur chuckled softly. "Another time, perhaps,” he replied swiftly. "I didn’t come all this way to dazzle you with magic tricks.”

"That’s a pity,” Mara sighed, lowering her head in disappointment. "But how will you help me, then? Can you stop the nightmares? Please.” Her voice cracked with sorrow as her wide, tear-filled eyes searched his face. "They hurt so much, and I’m always tired. I’m afraid to sleep anymore. Please, make them stop!”

Dartur’s gaze softened. "I will do all that I can, Marániel, though I can make no promises. It grieves me to say that even my powers may not be enough. But before I can help, I must first see what you see.” His voice grew firm, carrying a subtle weight of command. "Close your eyes, child!” He placed his open hand gently on her forehead, as though to measure her fever, though the gesture was filled with something deeper, a quiet magic that thrummed beneath his touch.

Trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation, the girl hesitated before finally closing her eyes. Though she wanted to fight against it, some unseen force held her captive. The mere touch of the wizard seemed to press her gently yet firmly back into the bed. Her voice wavered as tears slipped down her flushed cheeks. "I lied before,” she whispered, her words heavy with emotion. "I am afraid.”

"You have nothing to fear,” Dartur murmured softly, though his brow furrowed in concentration. With eyes tightly shut, he began to whisper strange, melodic words - an ancient tongue, foreign and haunting, more like a song carried on a forgotten wind than simple speech.

As the spell unfolded, Mara’s forehead heated as if touched by a fever, her body trembling uncontrollably beneath his hand. And then, in the depths of the spell, Dartur’s vision opened. A shadowy figure appeared, distant yet unmistakable, coiling around a jagged, pitch-black fortress with many spires, like an immense serpent crawling its way upward. His gaze followed its ascent, spiraling toward the tower’s peak, where the darkness gathered thick and heavy, swirling ominously around the highest spire.

And then he heard it - clear and terrible - a voice deep and maddening, a sound that clawed at the edges of reason. It called out the girl’s name in twisted, nightmarish syllables, as if each utterance was designed to shatter the spirit.

Mara writhed in agony, her face contorted as if her very flesh was on fire. "It hurts,” she gasped, her voice thin and trembling, "It hurts so much. He’s hurting me. Please, make it stop.”

Dartur’s brow furrowed as he fought to remain focused, his gaze steady despite the girl’s torment. "What does he say?” he pressed gently, though the weight of her suffering tugged at him. "What words does he speak to you?”

"Strange things,” Mara whispered, her voice barely audible as she hesitated. "He speaks my name... over and over. Every time he does, the pain is worse.” She swallowed, her throat tight with fear. "He says he knows me - he knows what I’ve done. And he’s trying to stop it from happening again.” A sharp cry escaped her as she convulsed, her body wracked with feverish tremors. "Please. Make it stop. Make it stop!”

The wizard’s expression shifted, his eyes becoming distant, as though his mind had drifted far away. His lips moved, muttering words in an ancient, labyrinthine tongue - so old and arcane that even Adraéth could not decipher their meaning. But despite the strangeness of his incantation, the air around them began to hum with power, and his cryptic utterances stirred the very fabric of the room. At last, something in his words took hold, and the shadow began to waver.

Mara’s eyes flew open, wide with wonder, and she looked up at the wizard. A soft laugh of relief bubbled from her lips, and she flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him in joy. "Thank you,” she whispered, tears still streaming down her flushed cheeks - tears of joy this time. "It’s gone. The pain is gone.”

Dartur nodded, his own relief evident. "Good. Now rest, child. You need your strength. I will return in a few days to check on you.” He rose slowly, his movements heavy with age, and made his way toward the door, his back slightly bent. Adraéth, her face clouded with concern, followed close behind him.

Mara, too weary to fight the pull of sleep, was quickly overwhelmed by a long-awaited and deep exhaustion. Before she could even process what had happened, she drifted into the first peaceful sleep she had known in what felt like an eternity.

Outside in the hallway, Adraéth caught up with Dartur, her voice low and urgent. "What does this mean?” she asked, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "You’ve seen it now - what torments her. Is it what I feared? Is it HIM?” Her voice trembled with barely contained dread. "And if it is, what does HE want with her? With Mara? She’s nothing more than an innocent child.”

"All of your fears have been confirmed,” Dartur muttered, his breath ragged with fatigue. "Every single one of them, without exception. It was wise to call me, for what I saw answered many of my questions - questions that, sadly, have little to do with the innocent girl herself. But your Lady was right; she saw the truth. There can be no doubt now: she is the one.” He sighed, the weight of his words heavy on his heart. "Shield her from the details. Say nothing of this to her - not yet! She will learn soon enough what awaits her. But for now, while she is still a child, let her remain one.”

"So, it is true? Everything Lady Mylias told me?” Adraéth’s voice wavered, her expression troubled. "You can imagine how this brings me no comfort. The poor child has already borne more than her share of suffering. Is it not unjust that she should be the one to walk this path? Why must it be her? I would take her place without hesitation.”

"Believe me, I know,” Dartur said, his voice tinged with sorrow. "I would do the same if I could, to spare such a delicate, innocent soul from bearing this burden. But this is beyond both of us. We cannot change what has been decreed. Her fate is sealed. All we can do is prepare her as best we can. But do not frighten her with the full truth - let her hold on to her innocence a little longer.”

"I don’t like deceiving her,” Adraéth said softly, her eyes clouded with worry, "but I know well enough that the truth would only cause her harm. Wouldn’t it be better, Dartur, if you stayed here a little longer? These nightmares might return to torment her again.”

"They won’t - not for a while, at least,” the man replied, though there was a shadow of doubt in his voice. He swallowed, the weight of other concerns pressing on him. "Besides, there are other matters that trouble me. Here, in Dinambad, I’ve uncovered answers to many questions that have plagued me for some time, though I never intended to find them. But Mara, even as a child, seems to possess a powerful magic. I will return, but do not wait for me - when I shall come again, I cannot say. First, I must go to Dunhir to share what I have learned with Elfor. Then my journey will continue. I hope to reach Menyána swiftly, for I must speak with the guardians of the order. If I arrive too late, they may set out without me, heading northwest in an attempt to reclaim Nyardin.”

He sighed, the weariness of his burdens heavy on his shoulders. "Several years ago, wild men from the Cûmeri tribe appeared in that region, scavenging what remains. I suspect they’re searching for the Staff of Nyardin. Thankfully, after the fall of the northern kingdom of Nyarost, the staff was taken to Dunhir for safekeeping. But it seems the raiders are unaware of this, which may work to our advantage.”

"If they’re searching for something in a place where it doesn’t exist, why not let them continue their blind quest? They’re doing no harm in the old ruins.”

"If only it were that simple,” Dartur replied grimly. "Their search doesn’t end with the ruins. They raid the surrounding villages and attack the nearby towns, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake. Ruthlessly, they burn everything to the ground, killing anyone who dares cross their path - man or woman, it makes no difference to them. They slaughter even the children, without a moment’s hesitation. It’s clear we cannot allow this to continue. The guardians must act swiftly, and I must reach them faster still.”

He turned to leave, then paused, his gaze softening. "Farewell, my loyal friend. We will meet again soon. And take great care of Mara. Her path is not an easy one.”

With these final words, the wizard hurried off, his cloak trailing behind him like the whisper of a fading storm.

2

The years that followed slipped by with alarming speed - too swiftly for Adraéth’s liking, as she watched Mara grow older with each passing day. The girl’s curiosity bloomed like a fire, her mind brimming with questions that grew more urgent as time marched on.

Dartur, once a frequent and welcome visitor to Dinambad, had initially come every three months without fail. But as time wore on, his visits grew sporadic, until, at last, he had been gone for four long years. Whispers spread through the city like wildfire. People began to wonder if the wizard would ever return.

"It must be tied to that dreadful shadow in the north,” some speculated, their voices hushed.

"Nonsense,” others dismissed. "It’s just a storm brewing on the horizon, nothing more.”

"And even if it is more than that,” a few muttered darkly, "the old wizard likely meddled in affairs too grand for him and ended up in trouble. His wisdom isn’t always as infallible as he thinks. Othorin, as we call him, can’t possibly know everything.”

"He never claimed to know everything,” Adraéth shot back, her voice firm, cutting through the gossip. "But Dartur knows more than any of you could even begin to fathom, and that alone is far more than all of you put together. So, stop speaking ill of him. He has never abandoned us in our time of need, and his counsel has never been anything but sound and wise.”

Silenced by her words, none dared to argue further. Over the years, Adraéth had earned the love and trust of the people, and whatever she said, they believed without question.

Yet even as she defended him, a seed of doubt had taken root in Adraéth’s heart. It was unusual - far too unusual - that Dartur had been gone so long without a word. Still, she kept her misgivings to herself, unwilling to extinguish the faint spark of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, the old wizard would return.

Little did Adraéth comprehend the true reasons behind Dartur's absence. Yet far to the north, nestled among the quiet, mist-laden hills of Nanglorin, near the ancient and forbidding peaks of Tin Nangroth, lay the small and unremarkable village of Cottingen. It was there, in that remote and forgotten corner of the world, that a curious event was about to unfold - a deed, so seemingly insignificant at the time, but one that would ripple through the ages with far-reaching consequences.

In Cottingen, a small Wusel - one of those peculiar folk known for their diminutive stature, childlike height, noses sharp and keen like a hedgehog’s snout, and bodies covered in thick, wiry hair - was about to make a choice. This creature, driven by an innocent curiosity, unknowingly set in motion a chain of events that would change the fate of Sedäa. And though his heart had been pure, the Wusel would soon wish that his hands had never touched what lay hidden in the shadows of his quiet world.

When Mara reached the age of maturity, her father spared no expense in throwing a grand celebration in her honor. Friends and family from across the lands traveled far and wide to attend, eager to offer their congratulations and present her with gifts fit for a princess. Throughout the day, the palace buzzed with merriment - tables laden with sumptuous feasts and the finest wines flowed freely. The revelry stretched long into the night, laughter and music filling the air. Mara, surrounded by guests, was kept busy unwrapping an endless array of presents. Silks and velvets of the finest weave, shimmering jewels of gold and silver, and even the rarest diamonds mined from the deepest caverns of the mountains adorned her hands. Wealth and opulence poured in from every corner, yet despite the outward appearance of joy, a quiet unease gnawed at her. She smiled gracefully, hiding the growing dread in her heart. It had been nearly five years since Dartur’s last visit, and the weight of his absence pressed heavily on her.

But then, one gift caught her eye, and for a fleeting moment, all her worries vanished. With a delighted gasp, Mara sprang to her feet, her sudden movement causing the entire hall to fall silent. All eyes turned toward her as she stood, the joy in her eyes unmistakable. She gazed at her father, her hands clasping the hilt of an exquisitely crafted sword. The hilt, carved from shimmering pearls, was shaped like a graceful white swan with wings outstretched, as if about to take flight. The blade, though slender, gleamed with an uncommon sharpness, hinting at its deadly precision.

For that moment, as the sword glinted in the light of the grand hall, Mara’s heart soared, and her fear seemed to fade into the shadows.

"There are only four such swords in all of Farham,” Prince Ráhad said as he approached his daughter, his voice filled with pride. "And each one is worth more than all my treasures combined. When each of your brothers came of age, they received one of these swords, and now, so do you - though you are not a man. Still, I fervently hope you will never need to wield it, but should the day come, it will serve you well.”

Mara was at a loss for words, her heart brimming with joy. The overwhelming sense of pride and belonging washed over her, as she realized, at last, she was being treated as an equal to her brothers. And not just in private - but before the eyes of all the gathered guests. With a cry of delight, she threw herself into her father’s arms, her heart full of gratitude.

The other gifts, though beautiful and priceless, paled in comparison to the swan-sword. No jeweled trinket or finely woven garment could match the significance of the sword now resting in her hands. But as she turned back to the mound of unopened presents, her thoughts drifted – unbidden - back to Dartur. His absence had been felt more keenly than ever. The old wizard had not set foot in Dinambad for quite a time, and the ache of worry grew stronger each day. From the moment he had first visited, he had found a place in her heart, and now, as her fears mounted, she missed him deeply.

All day long, from the first pale rays of the sun creeping behind the mountains through the veil of dark clouds, she had held on to the hope that he would come - if only to celebrate her birthday.

But he did not come.

And the void left by his absence weighed heavier than all the riches she had been given.

When the final guests had departed, leaving only her family and a handful of women and young girls from the city, a deep sorrow settled over Mara. Despite the festivities, a growing sense of despair gnawed at her heart. She feared that something terrible had befallen the wizard, or perhaps, even worse, that he had simply lost interest in her entirely. The thought was too painful to bear.

Without a word, Mara quietly retreated from the gathering, slipping away unnoticed. She left behind the piles of extravagant gifts - once a source of joy, now meaningless. Tears filled her eyes as she climbed into her bed, pulling the covers tightly over her head, as though shielding herself from the weight of the day’s disappointments. As the night deepened, all she wished for was that this day, which had begun in celebration, would be forgotten entirely, along with the emptiness it left in her heart.

Three knocks echoed through the room.

Silence followed.

Mara stirred and sat up, her heart pounding. The candle on the wooden dresser beside her bed had burned halfway down, marking the passage of at least six hours. Confusion clouded her thoughts as she glanced around. The night still held sway over the world outside, but the hour was a mystery to her.

She was just about to lay back down, dismissing the sound as part of a dream, when the knocking came again - louder this time, more urgent.

"Who’s there?” she called, her voice trembling in the heavy silence. "And why do you disturb me at such a late hour?”

"It is an old friend,” came the reply, the voice deep and commanding, filling the space with a warmth that ignited hope like a flame in the cold darkness. "And as for why I am here so late, I will not answer, for truly, I am here quite early - earlier than I intended. But since I’ve arrived, I ask you, Marániel, open the door and let me in, that we might speak without hindrance. It is rather unpleasant to hold a conversation through a closed door.”

Mara’s heart leaped with joy. She sprang from her bed, rushing to the door. With a swift motion, she flung it open and fell into the arms of the man standing on the threshold.

"Am I too late to wish you a happy birthday?” the old man asked, his eyes twinkling.

"You could never be late,” Mara replied with a smile, her heart lifting.

Dartur laughed, the sound warm and full of joy. "Well then, a very happy birthday to you." He wrapped her in a gentle embrace before stepping into the room, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. "How have you been, my dear? Adraéth told me your nightmares have returned. Is that true?"

Mara hesitated, searching for the right words. "In a way," she began slowly. "But this time, it’s different. The pain is gone, but in its place, I feel an overwhelming fear and sadness. The shadow – HE - he’s still there, always in my mind. And I can’t stop wondering what he wants from me. Adraéth won’t give me any answers. She dodges all my questions, as if she’s hiding something from me on purpose. Can you give me the answers? Or will you just lie to me like everyone else?" Her voice wavered with frustration and longing, her eyes searching Dartur’s face for any sign of truth.

"Adraéth has never lied to you," he began in a steady, calming voice. "Believe me, I would know if she had. She has only withheld parts of the truth, and that is a very different thing. And even then, she did so at my request. Before you grow angry, understand this - sometimes it is a mercy not to know everything. Ignorance can shield us from unbearable pain. But I can see from the sorrow etched across your face that you are no longer as unaware as you once were. The burden of your knowledge is heavy. So, I must ask - how did you come by this information, and just how much do you know now?"

"Why does that matter to you?" Mara demanded, rising to her feet, her gaze fierce as she faced the wizard. "You’ve been gone for nearly five years. In that time, everything has changed. I have changed. And before I reveal what I know, I insist that you tell me what you know - about me and about that terrible shadow!"

"There is not as much to tell as you might think," Dartur replied calmly, his tone unwavering. "Why he haunts your dreams isn’t entirely clear, even to me. It would only make sense if he knew who you truly are, but I am certain he does not. He may only suspect, but his suspicions aren’t enough. As long as he remains unsure, no harm will come to you. However, the reason you can see him so vividly in your dreams - so clearly, as if he stands before you - has far more to do with you than with him."

Mara’s frustration hung in the air, but Dartur’s calm presence soothed the edges of her anger, even as questions churned in her heart.

"Are you telling me that I can see him because I want to?" Mara asked, her voice tight with confusion and frustration. "Why would I ever want that? There is nothing more terrifying in this world than what I see when he appears. Why him, of all things?" She shook her head vehemently. "No, Dartur, I do not choose this. If I had my way, I’d never lay eyes on him again."

"This isn’t a matter of choice, at least not consciously," Dartur replied, his tone soothing but firm. "You are not doing this willingly. But something deep within you compels you to see him. Sometimes, without realizing it, we keep our enemies close because it serves a purpose. And because of that - through you - I have found many valuable answers over the years."

"But why me?" she asked, her voice softening, a hint of sorrow creeping in. "Who am I, Dartur? What did you mean when you said, who I really am? Why can I see him? I’m just a human, a simple mortal... and still half a child - nothing more."

Dartur rose to his feet and gently rested a hand on her slender shoulder, his eyes filled with quiet understanding. "You are much more than that, Mara. And very soon, you will begin to see just how much more. I wish I could give you the answers you seek, but I cannot - at least not yet. Do not let this trouble you, for it would be in vain. In time, everything will be revealed to you. All the answers you long for will come, but for now, I can say no more."

His words were heavy with unspoken truths, but his touch was gentle, a reminder that even in the unknown, she was not alone.

"Then why are you here, Dartur?" Mara’s voice trembled with frustration. "Have you come again just to wring more details from my dreams, like always? I feel like a piece of fruit - squeezed of every drop and then discarded. But if you insist on hearing what I saw, then fine." She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "I saw dark, twisting caves and tunnels, buried deep beneath a massive mountain range. Most of the tunnels had collapsed, blocked off and impassable, but some remained open. In those passages, I heard a sound - something between a wail and a cry for help. Or maybe it was just the wind howling through the cracks in the stone."

She turned her gaze directly on the old wizard, her eyes sharp and questioning. "I wandered through those tunnels, as though I were really there, though I couldn’t tell you where it was. I wasn’t walking - I was running, as if something was chasing me. But there was no one there, no one except… this thing." Mara hesitated, her voice growing quieter as she glanced up at Dartur before continuing. "It was black, round and I held it so tightly between my fingers, as if I feared it would be stolen from me. What was it? A coin? A ring, perhaps? The old stories speak of enchanted rings - could it have been one of those? Or was it a gemstone? It was certainly large enough."

Her gaze searched Dartur’s face, seeking answers. "Is this why you’ve been away for so long? Is this what’s been keeping you from us? Ever since that dark shadow from the north began creeping across the land, strange things have started happening. It’s as if HE’s reaching out, searching for something. I know now that it’s not me he’s after. But what is it then? Could it be that object I saw in my hands? Could there actually be some truth to all the ridiculous gossip?"

She stared at him, her eyes filled with doubt and frustration. "You used to be much better at hiding your concerns. Or have there been so many now that they’re starting to overwhelm you? I see something in your eyes - a flicker of regret, something that weighs heavily on you. But what is it? I can’t make it out. Your advice has always been wise, even if stubborn at times, but it has never led us astray. So, tell me, what is it that you regret so deeply that it’s beginning to consume you?"

Dartur paced a few steps away, his back to Mara, his shoulders heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. "You see much, more than most - more than those rare few who possess the gift of foresight and can peer decades into the future. But what you’ve glimpsed, as powerful as it seems, is no longer as crucial as it once was." Slowly, he turned to face her, his expression somber. "But yes, I regret it - deeply. Every single day."

For a moment, he was lost in his own thoughts, the silence between them thick with unspoken history. "What you saw in those dark tunnels was not yourself, for you’ve never set foot in such a place, and I pray you never will. It was Haradan, son of Huandar, the last king’s heir. He was there, holding that… object."

Dartur sighed, the sound filled with the weight of years. "It was no ring. The tales of magic rings are nothing more than old fables. You shouldn’t believe everything whispered in the dark. Most of it is nothing but fairy tales and legends. But the stories of the seven stones - the Alyarel - those are real. And what you saw was one of them."

"The Alyarel?" Mara’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and fascination gleaming within them. "Which one? There are only three left in Farham, aren’t there? Mylias’s red stone, Elfor’s brown stone and Thergil’s green one. I know nothing of the others. Could it really be one of those?"

Dartur’s gaze darkened, a storm of memories flashing in his eyes. "The Alyarel are far more dangerous than any tale would have you believe. The stone you saw… it holds a power far greater than you realize. And it may be one of the three that remain - or something far worse. I can’t say with certainty." Dartur’s voice was tinged with a distant uncertainty. "It may not be one of those stones at all - it could be something else entirely."

Mara took a step back, fear creeping into her heart. "But what could it be, then? Could it be the stone everyone believed was lost in the boundless depths of Ymbsetta?" The few tales Adraéth had shared with her about this ancient artifact were enough to make Mara’s blood run cold.

"It’s possible." Dartur paused, his thoughts momentarily clouded. "In fact, it’s highly likely. But I’m not entirely sure yet. One last test must be completed before we can know for certain. However, that’s a story for another time, one I won’t burden you with."

"Not even if it’s exactly what I wish to know?" Mara pressed.

"No, not even then," Dartur said with a knowing smile. "And besides, you already know more than most - far more than is good for you. But that’s not the reason I came all this way to see you. There’s still time before we need to discuss such things. What concerns me most is you, and I must admit, my worries have only grown. The fact that you can see things - glimpses of events - confirms all of my biggest fears. A great destiny awaits you, Mara. And you won’t have to wait much longer to see it unfold."

He stepped closer, his gaze warm but serious. "You are no ordinary mortal. You are something more, something greater. Your gifts surpass even those of the Children of Ahar. The yearning in your heart to do something, to make a difference in these dark days - it will be realized sooner than you think. But I can’t tell you much more than that."

With a heavy sigh, Dartur turned toward the door, his movements slow and deliberate. As he reached for the handle, he looked back at her. "I must leave you again, but this time, I promise it won’t be five years before we meet again. There are things I must attend to - urgent matters that cannot be delayed any longer, things you may never hear of. For now, I leave you in Adraéth’s care."

He opened the door, his words hanging in the air. "Don’t burden yourself with too many questions. Before the end, everything will become clear." And with that, he stepped outside, leaving Mara standing in the quiet room, her heart filled with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

"Which end, Dartur?" Mara followed him into the hallway, her eyes brimming with tears. "Ours?"

The wizard stopped abruptly, turning back to her with a look of deep contemplation and sorrow.

"I don’t want to die," Mara confessed, her voice breaking with anguish. "I don’t fear death itself - at least not my own - but I cannot bear the thought of losing my family. I’ve already endured more suffering than I can handle. If you know that we will all fail and die, why do you continue to strive so hard? Isn’t it all utterly pointless?"

Dartur stepped closer, his presence both comforting and somber. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. "If even a single person is willing to fight for what is good, it is not futile - no matter how great or foolish that person may be. No, it is never, ever futile, because hope still exists. It may not be much, but it is enough to take the risk. You will still be able to live in peace here for a long time, and perhaps the impending war will never reach as far west as Dinambad."

He paused, softening his tone. "Don’t take all my gloomy words so seriously! I am an old, weary fool, and sometimes I speak too pessimistically without even realizing it. But if it comforts and soothes you, I still hold onto the hope that we will achieve a good ending. And as long as this hope remains, you need not live in fear." His sigh was heavy with both resignation and enduring optimism. "So farewell, for now. May we meet again in the near future." With that, he swiftly turned and walked away, leaving Mara standing alone in the hallway. Her heart ached with fear and uncertainty, yet a flicker of hope kindled by Dartur’s words provided a small measure of solace.

She stood motionless for quite some time, reflecting on his words, but soon fatigue began to overpower her thoughts. It felt as if an unseen force was guiding her, compelling her to return to bed. To her own surprise, she fell asleep almost immediately.

For a few hours, her sleep was restful and pleasant, but as dawn approached, it was abruptly shattered by a nightmarish vision far more painful and brutal than any she had experienced before.

She found herself gazing upon the stone city of Mahlrit. Though it was day, the sky was shrouded in dense, dark clouds, casting a gloomy, pallid light over the capital. Countless armored creatures lined the sprawling fields before the city walls, with the once-green land completely obscured. Here and there, monstrous siege engines - such as battering rams, catapults, and massive siege towers - were scattered about, operated by enormous, thick-skinned figures far larger and bulkier than any other on the field.

Screams tore through the air, piercing the ominous silence, as though the horror had just begun. A bloody battle erupted with terrifying suddenness. The mighty gates of the city creaked open just a fraction, and out charged a host of regal horsemen, surging into the chaos like a swift ship cutting through storm-tossed seas. At the head of the charge rode a young woman, her short golden curls glinting like a beacon in the gloom. Mara’s heart sank - she knew her at once. It was her cousin Fria, Dinhad’s youngest child. Though Fria rode with valor and defiance, the battle was swiftly turning against her and her men. Enemy forces overwhelmed them, toppling each rider in brutal succession - until Fria herself was thrown to the ground.

Mara’s soul cried out in desperation, her instinct to scream tearing at her throat, but her voice was swallowed by the deafening roar of combat. Blinded by the anguish of the nightmare, she could only watch in horror as her cousin was struck by an unseen, ferocious force, flinging her body against the impenetrable gates of the city with crushing finality.

But then, something shifted in Mara’s dream. As if another vision were fighting its way into her mind, she felt an eerie sensation, as though two realities were overlapping. She glimpsed a figure - perhaps King Huandar - riding along a worn path beside a river, a company of mounted men following close behind. But before she could grasp more, the scene blurred, dissolving into a haze. Deep waters and thick, impenetrable mist rose up around her, swirling and encircling her, until she felt herself lifted from the earth, as though she were weightless, drifting.

For what felt like an eternity, there was only darkness. Slowly, as if emerging from the depths of her mind, she saw the figure of a man clad in regal armor, a magnificently adorned sword held firmly in his hands. He stood tall, his stature noble and commanding, his hair dark and tightly curled. Yet Mara could see no more. It was as if she were being offered just a fleeting glimpse - an omen of the future.

And then, a deep, ominous voice echoed through the void, calling the name Ealdur with a tone laced with fear, as if the name itself carried great power. In that instant, Mara understood - this was none other than Huandar’s heir, the rightful King of Miénast.

Suddenly, her vision was engulfed by a roaring inferno, the flames steadily consuming everything around her as though intent on devouring the very world. All that remained was fire - blazing, relentless, until it seemed nothing else could exist. And then, as before, the dark shadow emerged - its form barely more than a silhouette - and bellowed her name with such monstrous fury, she felt as though her very soul was being set ablaze, burning from within.

With a blood-curdling scream, Mara jolted awake, her body trembling violently as she sat upright in her bed. She was drenched in cold sweat, her skin ghostly pale. Her breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, and her limbs quivered uncontrollably beneath the weight of terror.

Within moments, Adraéth burst into the room, her face etched with worry as she rushed to Mara’s side. "What happened?" she asked, her voice urgent. "Was it the same dream again, the one with the mountains?"

"No," Mara whispered, shaking her head, utterly drained. "I saw Mahlrit. The capital was under siege... attacked by countless horrific creatures, and massive, towering monsters." She paused, her breath ragged, struggling to calm the storm within. "And I saw Fria... she fell before the gates." Tears filled her eyes, spilling over as she broke down, her sobs wracking her fragile frame with grief.

Adraéth gently cradled Mara in her arms, her embrace tender yet firm, as though trying to shield the young girl from the horrors that haunted her. "It was only a dream," she whispered soothingly. "Fria will not fall, and Mahlrit will never be besieged. What you saw is not destined to happen."

Mara’s tear-filled eyes met Adraéth’s, her heart aching with doubt. "But what if it does?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and pain. "It wasn’t me I saw in those cursed caves - it was Haradan, Huandar’s son. Dartur told me about him. And the thing he clutched in his hands - it could have been one of those strange stones, or something even darker. Dartur believes, as I do, that it was the Black Stone, Haradan’s curse. Urehel’s stone."

"Do not speak his name!" Adraéth’s voice rose, sharp and fierce, as though even the mere utterance could summon something dreadful. "It is dangerous enough that he torments you in your sleep, but to speak his name aloud invites disaster beyond imagination."

"I’m not afraid of him," Mara insisted, her voice laced with defiance. "No matter how powerful he once was, now he’s nothing more than a shadow - formless and without true power. I have no fear of him. He cannot harm me."

"For now, perhaps." Adraéth’s tone was softening, though it carried a warning. "But do not be so quick to dismiss him. His power, though diminished, is vast. And his allies - many of them - are not mere shadows. They are creatures of flesh and bone, and they can hurt you." A weary sigh escaped her, as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. "I don’t know what foolish ideas Dartur has placed in your mind, but I do not like hearing you speak with such recklessness. You do not yet comprehend the full scale of the threat that looms from the north. Until you do, it would be wise to guard your words, lest they invite more danger than you realize."

"I’ve been silent for far too long," Mara declared, her voice filled with a newfound resolve. "That time is over. I won’t sit here quietly any longer, waiting for fate to strike." Without hesitation, she leapt from her bed and hurried to the door. "Is Dartur still here? I must speak with him - he needs to know what I’ve seen."

"He’s already gone," Adraéth replied, her tone gentle but firm. "By now, he must be many hours ahead of us."

Mara turned sharply, stepping closer to Adraéth. "I need to speak with him. It’s urgent."

"Do you intend to chase after him?" Adraéth asked, her voice filled with incredulity. "What has Dartur said to you that has stirred this fire in you? I’ve never seen you like this before."

"It’s not what he said that changed me," Mara replied, her eyes intense. "It’s what he didn’t say. Please, I need your help. I must follow him. If I leave now, I can catch up to him."

"Catch up?" Adraéth stood, staring at her as though she’d lost her senses. "You don’t even know where he’s going, or where he might be heading. How could you possibly find him? No, I won’t help you in this madness."

"I do know where he’s going," Mara countered, her voice steady and determined. "Dartur spoke of a final test, a way to confirm that the object is what he believes it to be. And I know where this object is - it’s with the Halfmen of Nanglorin. As much as I’ve doubted the stories whispered in the city, I know this much to be true. I saw the boy in the dark caves as well, just once, and I saw him take the object. From the rumors on the streets, I’ve learned where these strange people dwell." Her eyes bore into Adraéth’s with desperate conviction. "You don’t have to come with me. I’ll ride swiftly and in disguise - no one will recognize me if I don’t want them to. But I need you to tell my father and brothers, should they ask - because they will - that I’ve gone to Mahlrit to visit my uncle and cousins. That will keep them from worrying. My father has urged me many times to visit the capital and see our family again. That’s all I ask of you. I promise, I’ll return before they ever suspect the truth."

"Do you really think I’m just going to let you walk away like this? I’m here to take care of you. How can I do that if you’re not here?"

"You know better than anyone that I’m not what everyone thinks I am," Mara replied. "I am so much more than that. So don’t worry about me. I’m old enough to look after myself. Nothing will happen to me. But the longer you hold me back, the further I’ll have to go to catch up with Dartur. Please, let me go!"

Adraéth sighed in resignation. "Fine, if you’re determined to go, then go! It’s pointless to try and stop you - you’re far too stubborn for that. I’ll do what you’re asking, but don’t think for a moment that I’m happy about it. I’d rather want you stay here. But it seems that no matter what I say, it’s like speaking to a wall. So go and be careful!"

Grateful, Mara embraced her briefly before dashing off.

3

At the break of dawn, long before the first light kissed the horizon, Mara slipped out of the stables on a powerful gray steed. Cloaked and hooded, her identity was hidden beneath layers of disguise, making her completely unrecognizable. Without looking back, she sped away from the harbor city, riding swiftly and with purpose. The old main road led her east, toward Mahlrit, the great capital nestled safely between the imposing spurs of the Tin Uael. Above it all, the snow-capped Mâhl loomed like a massive, ancient sentinel watching over the land. From there, she followed the winding trade road south, which hugged the banks of the Uael River for hours, linking Mahlrit with the distant city of Suthawen.