Principium

` Somewhere North of Leviathan, the hidden Citadel Lis Tetrax (Year 666)

Leviathan was especially gloomy that day.

Darkness spread as ashen clouds heavy with the weight they bear gathered above pointed ends of the ancient masonry structure that is the highest tower of Citadel Lis Tetrax, the whistling of cold wind foretold the storm they were about to unleash to be massive. It was rather poetic, considering what was to come. The first flash of lightning illuminated a tall and thin figure clad in a black cloak walking briskly through the dilapidated court yard, fallen debris and wayward branches from broken trees threatening to block the path. Heavy rain pounded just as the person reached the arched entrance of the tower.

The once brilliant gold now a decaying muddy brown lock was easily broken with a spark of flame and a kick, and the person managed to escape the piercing cold of the rain to enter the pitch darkness of the tower. The figure drew back the hood of their cloak and light the room with a flick of their finger, the gentle fire on their right palm revealed a long faced, middle aged man with copper hair and a still bleeding gash to the side of his face.

The inside of the tower proved to be just as ruined as the outside, with part of the circular wall halfway through caving in and crawling with vines and other greenery, the stairs leading upward looking to be infested by maggots and smelling of wet dog and decay. But the man instead fixed his eyes to the side opposite of the stairs and hastily approached the wall, he made quick work of burning the vines that clung to the wall and noticed something upon closer inspection. The rune symbol 'Algiz' was carved to the stone, a straight line with two slanted lines conjoined in the middle. It was the mark of protection and guardianship, but 'merkstave' or lying in a reverse position would mean hidden danger.

He pressed his left palm flat above the rune muttering, "Apertum." and muffled a pained groan as the symbol beneath burned white and marked his palm. He stepped back in alarm as the walls rearranged themselves to reveal another set of stone stairs, this one leading down the tunnel like path.

Squaring his shoulders, the man trudge his way down, not once glancing down his still lightly smoking and albeit trembling left palm, smelling strongly of burnt skin with the Algiz symbol now permanently marking not just his skin, but his very magic.

A few minutes of walking and he reached a large cavernous space, on the floor was a hexagram star painted in dried blood, all six points of the star each reaching one of the ornate carved black columns that lined the circular wall. All six columns bear the runic symbol of wind, water, earth, fire, dark, and light painted on it. The cavern didn't suffer the ruin the citadel had, no crack or vines on the walls, not even a spec of dust or cobwebs, as if it was preserved. It was beautiful in a daunting way, with the feeling of a presence there aside from the man. And perhaps there is. In the middle of the hexagram was an obsidian sphere, the sleek surface glinting menacingly as it floated steadily a foot above ground.

The man heaved a deep breath.

The room erupted in brilliant light as the man lit the hexagon on fire with his magic, a small spark that crawled upon the lines on the floor as if it has a life of its own. He unsheathed a dagger and watched the same obsidian material make a deep enough cut on his left palm, right where the Algiz rune was burned on his skin, and let his blood drip to the fire.

"Sanguinere." The man spoke and the fire burn stronger, reaching halfway through the high dome ceiling just as the six runic symbols on the columns produced the same bright white light, all pointing to the obsidian sphere in the middle.

Outside, the wind howled and the rain poured, each drop like a drumbeat. Perhaps a warning, maybe a countdown. Lightning strike and thunder rumbled, nature rejoiced the return of the fallen.

In the hour between dawn and dusk, an archaic light far brighter than any other ripped through the darkness of the storm, decimating the highest tower of Citadel Lis Tetrax. The light vanished, the rumble of the storm and the shower of rain silencing as if reaching an impasse, revealing the small figure of a boy of eight in the middle of what was once an underground cavernous room, with the still burning rune symbol 'Dagaz' at the nape of his neck. The boy was bathed in the same archaic light, a beacon that signals the end to the century-old of waiting. The union of heaven and earth.

Miles and miles away, a girl of ten was shocked awake by the burn of the inverted rune symbol 'Othala' at the nape of her neck and the overwhelming feeling she thought long gone, hope.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

` South of the Third Circle, Gusion (Year 669)

It was only half past six in the morning, the twittering of birds could be heard from a nearby tree as the first rays of shimmering sunlight poured from the open windows. The scent of early morning rain mixed with wood and earth drifts with the wind, mixing enticingly with the smell of cooking eggs and bacon and the brewing pot of coffee. But the peaceful atmosphere was disturbed by an excited squeal from an equally excited child coming from the bedrooms.

"Will you calm down, Cilix?" A haggard looking man in his late 50's with a long face and copper hair said with an exasperated sigh as he turned off the stove and plated their food, trying and failing to look stern due to the adoring look in his eyes and the twitching of his lips.

The light chastising only seemed to push the boy in question to jump more erratically around their small bungalow home, causing the man to finally give into a bout of laughter. The boy's joy is contagious, his midnight black curls bouncing about a youthful face as he jump around the man, periwinkle eyes alight with excitement, a pink flush to his chubby cheeks in overexertion as he continue to cheer.

"But it's the third of April Papa, it's my birthday! My birthday! Do you know what that means?" The boy's grin seems to grow larger as he approached his father.

"Mmm," The man put the plates on the table and scratched his chin as if thinking, "means you're eleven now and isn't allowed the jump around like a baby?" he lifted the boy to sit on the kitchen counter as he started cutting fruits, giving it to the boy to mix in a bowl.

"No Papa! It means I'm eleven now so I can go to Levin Institute!" The boy cheered as he steal bites of strawberries from the bowl, oblivious to the morose look that entered the man's face as he stared at the boy.

"Yes, of course." Was the only thing he said as he watched this beautiful boy, full of life and dreams for the future, babble about the very place the man feared the most.

Levin Institute for Guardians and Weavers.