Prologue 1

  Some stories begin with triumph. Others with kings.

  This one begins in Norvil—black stone between two mountains, once bright with trade. Lady Luck laid its first blocks; for a while, she smiled.

  Then fortune turned.

  Power pressed over the city like weather. The world, unaware tilted toward something dark.

  Above it, something watched.

  The spark caught.

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  River kept to the alleys. Bare feet on hot stone; stomach begging. The guards owned the main road. He’d learned that. Today he’d try Margarith: work for food or go hungry.

  He barely knew the boy in the puddle—hunger and caution where the rest used to be. He pictured the guard’s face and the lesson landed: alleys only.

  Her tavern sat under his roof-nook. She’d thrown men twice his size into the street without breathing hard. He crossed in a cart’s shadow and slipped inside.

  Sweat, ale, soup—pungent to most, was a promise to him.

  “What are you doing here, boy?” Margarith’s voice cracked the air. “You look—” she sniffed, wrinkled her nose, “—and smell like death.”

  “Ma’am… any work? Cleaning toilets or tables for food?”

  She jerked a thumb toward the back. “Buckets are in the closet. If I can smell it, you missed it.”

  He scrubbed, coming back with numb fingers. Margarith eyed the floor, then the rag. “Good enough.” She slid him a bowl. “Eat.” He burned his tongue and didn’t care.

  The cold air greeted him again. He stood beneath the drainpipe, looking up at his rooftop. He couldn’t believe he had the strength to climb it with the food in hand, but somehow, he found the will to try. His feet pressed against the ground. A voice from behind froze him in place—deep, stern, frightening.

  “Boy. What are you doing there?”

  Before River could move, a fist hooked his shirt and ripped him off his feet. The bag burst; food skittered.

  Rage flared. “Why’d you do that?”

  Only then did he see the uniform. The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that.”

  The boot hit his gut, air gone, then his chest. Blood flecked the stones. The world thinned to a bright edge; pain drained away. Then nothing.

  River flailed wildly, desperately trying to halt his fall. He had no control. No way to stop the plunge. Then, with a sudden, jarring thud, he slammed to a stop. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the intensity. The world around him silent and infinite. His pain had dulled to a distant throb.

  River’s breath caught. White light flooded everything; at the center, a small orb folded color into itself. He stepped forward, the world narrowing to it. With each step, the brightness grew until everything ahead blurred.

  When he was within arm's reach of the orb, he hesitated. The orb hovered effortlessly before him, humming softly—a sound that seemed to echo not in his ears but deep in his mind, resonating with something primal. River reached out with a trembling hand. His fingers brushed the glowing aura. As he touched it, a flicker of green light shimmered through his skin, and suddenly the pressure lifted. He collapsed to his knees, overwhelmed by a surge of warmth. It ran through him, washing away the last traces of pain left by the guard’s assault. Ache and hunger fell away. The relief hit him so hard he almost laughed, then one hot tear slipped from his eye. He blinked, tears welling in his eyes. It was a strange feeling—tears of relief, of wonder. Curiosity stirred within him. He turned his gaze back to the marble-sized orb, wiping away his tears. What else could it do? With newfound purpose, he reached toward it, stretching his hand through the shimmers of light. His fingers brushed the surface. It was smooth, cool and familiar in a way that made his heart race. Then, with a low pop, the orb detached from whatever held it in place and dropped into his palm.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  And in that moment, he knew. It was a manifestation of his soul. The realization struck like a bell. This wasn’t the bruised boy who limped through alleyways, the one no one saw or spared a second thought. This… this was something older. Something eternal. His breath snagged; his mind reeled. Knowledge poured into him like liquid pages.

  The light faded. The room stilled. River stared at the orb, now dull in his hand. The warmth it had once radiated was gone. It looked... ordinary. Just a marble. The kind of thing street kids might toss around in alleyways.

  The orb pulsed—hard. Fractures spider-webbed; color seeped from the cracks. It slipped from his fingers and burst without striking anything. Light punched his chest. The white room crazed like glass; along the cracks, pieces of Norvil bled through: gutter pipe, bronze plates, a spilled sack.

  When his eyes snapped open, Norvil was back—dark as ever. Everything came into razor focus; a soft haze of essence rolled off people, each with its own hue and weight. The ache and hunger were gone. Acting on instinct, he pushed his essence outward, reading stone, breath, heat. When the tether snapped back, a sharp pinpoint ache bloomed behind his eyes—then was gone.

  The guard, the same one who had kicked him moments before—was crumpled on the ground, his eyes wide with shock and horror. The shimmers that had emanated from the orb now flew from River over to the guard, curling around him like wisps of smoke. The same faint glow clung to his body, as if River’s power was influencing the guard’s actions. River looked down at his hands. They were coated in the same shimmering aura. He was stronger, more complete. “Don’t hurt me... please,” the guard whispered, his voice trembling.

  River froze. The guard’s words struck him harder than he could have expected. For so long, he had been at the mercy of people like this—men who held power over him, who treated him like dirt. Now, the roles had reversed, and it felt... wrong. Light knifed down the street; heads tipped skyward. The murmur braided into words—“Primordial… mage… dangerous…”

  River half-turned, catching fingers aimed at him, awe bright in their faces, and the world snapped loud again: boot-thunder, a bucket ringing off stone. The beam winked out. Dark swallowed the alley.

  A scream knifed the alley. “God pillar!”

  Roof. Now.

  He hit the cobbles, vision snapping sharp—daylight inside the dark—but the crowd blinked past him, unable to fix on the shadows where he stood. He didn’t wait. He sprinted to the gutter pipe. Last night it was a fight; now he moved like he’d trained for this—hands and feet, quick and sure, up and away.

  He hit the roof and sprinted. Tiles went loose; gutter iron slammed his ribs—cold air punched the lights out.