The Magic Heirloom: Prologue

"A person who fights with monsters should be careful lest they become one. When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back at you." - Frederich Nietzsche 

Swift footsteps echoed through the dark fortress as night held sway over the skies. A hooded figure, draped in crimson robes, strode through the somber corridors, guided solely by torchlight casting a dim glow on the brick walls. Their gait spoke of discontent and anguish, though the reason remained elusive. After enduring several minutes, they finally reached their destination—a grand wooden door guarding an apparently vacant chamber. Abruptly, the doors swung open with a grating noise, flooding the dark chamber with the radiance of shimmering torches lining every corner. In that light, a group of hooded figures came into view, each more distinctive than the last. Some sported large, pointed ears protruding from their hoods, others exhibited an unmistakable greenish complexion, and a few were of almost diminutive stature. Every member of this enigmatic assembly turned their attention to the crimson-robed man who had just arrived, their expressions ranging from anxiousness to anger and even fear.

Moments later, a voice reverberated through the room. — The council did not support your decision. - Silence hung in the air for a few more moments before the crimson figure broke it. — I don't care. I've never cared about the council, and it's foolish of you to believe you can change my mind. - The enigmatic individual's words seemed to stoke anger in the majority present, manifesting as huffs and murmurs of dissatisfaction and denial.

Another hooded figure forcefully struck the table, producing a loud echoing sound. — You no longer have the right to overrule our decisions, Kwane. - She said, emphasizing the name. The crimson figure then lowered their hood, revealing an elderly man with graying hair and beard, his gaze steady. — You and your hierarchy are utterly useless at this moment. The problem transcends your mundane positions! Can't you see the immense trouble the rift is causing? - Kwane stated sternly.

But suddenly, another voice emerged, originating from a man with pointed ears. — The council's interest lies in exploring the benefits the rift can offer. Destroying it would only result in a loss of resources, potential, and profit. - He said with a subtle, serene, and profound voice. — That's not true. There's nothing in the rift that's of use to the council. You're just too cowardly to admit to the population that you have no control over the situation. - Kwane retorted, once again opposing the large group of people, who were increasingly displaying their resentment.

— Age has already clouded your judgment, old man! Your lack of comprehension will be your downfall. - A towering figure with a muscular physique, a deep voice, and golden eyes that gleamed through the shadow of their hood remarked.

— I don't care about what you will or won't do; I already have sufficient resources to execute my plan. This pitiful meeting ends here, and I have nothing more to discuss with you. - Kwane concluded, turning his back and heading toward the exit of the chamber. — If you cross that threshold without abandoning the execution of your plan, you will make a grave mistake, old Kwane. The entire council will pursue you, and your existence will be erased, as if you had never existed. - A hoarse, muffled voice emanated from the depths of the chamber, seemingly silencing everyone else. In response, Kwane halted his steps, turned his face back. — I'd love to see all of you try. - He said boldly before vanishing in a bluish glow, as if being drawn into a portal. A few milliseconds after Kwane disappeared, a dagger traversed the entire hall, flying in his direction and striking the spot where he had stood.