The city of Velmire gleamed under twin moons, its marble towers catching silver light and bending it into elegance. At the heart of the capital, a thousand candles floated above the Grand Plaza, dancing in the air without wick or flame. Magic here was not just practice—it was culture, tradition, and bloodline. And tonight, it was celebration.
For Kaelen Valis, heir to House Valis and scion of the Spellborn Lineage, it was the day he had waited for since his first spark.
The Rite of Sigils.
"Don't fidget," his mother scolded gently, adjusting the high collar of his ceremonial robe. Her voice held the regal calm of nobility, but her fingers trembled. "You represent all of us tonight."
Kaelen gave her a small, boyish grin. "Don't worry, Mother. I'm going to make the runes sing."
She laughed despite herself, then stepped aside as the ceremonial doors opened and trumpets flared with a harmony woven from sound and spell.
The High Archon stood at the altar beneath the Mooncrystal Spire, beard aglow with arcane light. Around him, thousands of citizens watched from marble balconies, floating platforms, and skywalks—every face turned toward Kaelen, the prodigy, the future of spellcraft.
He stepped forward.
"Kaelen Valis, son of House Valis, bearer of sigilmark since the womb," the High Archon intoned, "do you accept the binding of spell and soul?"
" I do," Kaelen said proudly.
The air thickened as the Archon raised the Sigil Brand, an ancient ring of glowing symbols forged in the First Flame. It burned gold, then crimson, then violet. The crowd gasped as the magic reacted—responded—not just with acknowledgment but affection. The Brand had chosen him.
"A rare resonance," the Archon whispered, awestruck. "He may surpass even the First Arcanists…"
Kaelen's heart soared. The future bloomed before him—centuries of study, mastery, ascension, legacy. He would lead Velmire into a new golden age.
Then came the sound.
A thunderous hum from beneath the city, like an ancient throat clearing after millennia of silence.
The moonlight turned red.
One of the floating candles burst—just popped like a bubble—and then another, and another. A sharp, acrid smell filled the air. Magic itself screamed.
And then the fire came.
Roaring like a beast unleaded, living, and hungry
It was Malevolent.
It burst from the altar, swallowing the altar, the Archon, and Kaelen's mother in one breath. Before anyone could react they were also swallowed and burnt. The sky lit up bright for miles like the sun, with the flames swallowing the kingdom
Kaelen stumbled back, arms raised, his newly bound sigils flaring to life. A shield bloomed around putting up some resistance but was quickly been subdued, His skin burned, his pitiful struggle like a smoke through fingers.
He burned. Screaming
Every nerve peeled open, every drop of his noble blood boiling. All he saw was flames and nothing more, before the darkness consumed him
His existence comsumed.
The kingdom in ruins.
But the ominus sensation continued as the sky was becoming tainted with blood