Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

The figure did not answer.

Instead, he stepped inside, his movements unnervingly calm.

Alaryc launched a bolt of lightning, the air sizzling as it surged toward the intruder.

But before it could make contact, the lightning vanished, swallowed by an invisible force.

Alaryc's eyes widened. This wasn't just magic—this was something entirely beyond his comprehension.

"Who the hell are you?" Alaryc shouted, his voice now edged with defiance. He summoned a vortex of wind, the force of it rattling the chamber's contents. But again, the attack was neutralised with a mere flick of the man's wrist. The intruder was advancing steadily, his movements almost languid.

Alaryc realised too late that he was outmatched. Even though Alaryn was in later stages of being an apprentice wizard, he couldn't even against him. He was like the tide of the ocean, sweeping away every move of his.

The man raised his hand, and an invisible force gripped Alaryc, pinning him in place. The young wizard struggled, his power flaring in desperation, but it was futile. The intruder's control over magic was absolute; his technique flawless.

"Who are you?" Alaryc spat, his voice a mixture of anger and fear. He could recognise the dark magic the mysterious wielded. And he couldn't believe how he was able to get inside the tower using such magic, as the tower was highly sensitive to dark magic.

The man finally spoke, his voice deep and resonant, carrying an unnatural weight. "Someone who has no need for titles. You'll come with me."

Alaryc tried to resist, his mind racing through escape plans, but the intruder was already steps ahead.

With a wave of his hand, the man conjured a portal, a swirling void of darkness that hummed with an eerie energy. Alaryc's struggles ceased as the force holding him intensified, pulling him toward the portal.

"You won't get away with this," Alaryc snarled, his defiance undimmed even in the face of certain defeat.

The man's hood shifted slightly, as though he was smiling. "I already have."

-

By the time the alarm was raised, it was too late.

The portal had closed, leaving no trace of where it led. Alaryc was gone. The Tower was thrown into chaos, its occupants scrambling to piece together what had happened. The wards and sentinels showed no signs of tampering, and the arcane seals on Alaryc's chamber were still intact, as if nothing had occurred. It was a mystery that defied explanation.

The Men of the Tower convened in their council chamber, their expressions grim.

The loss of Alaryc was not just a blow to their pride—it was a threat to their power.

Whispers spread throughout the Tower and beyond, rumours of a shadowy figure who could bypass even the most impenetrable defences. Some speculated that the intruder was a rogue wizard of unimaginable skill; others believed he was something far more sinister.

-

What no one in the Tower knew was that Alaryc's abduction was no isolated incident.

On the same night, Elowen had been taken from the Elf Witch Academy. The two events, seemingly unconnected, were part of a larger scheme, orchestrated by a force that moved in the shadows, its motives unclear but undeniably dangerous.

As the Empire reeled from the twin disappearances, a storm was brewing—one that would shake the foundations of magic and power.

The Wizard Tower, once an unassailable fortress, was now a symbol of vulnerability, its reputation tarnished by a single night of shadows. And somewhere, far from the Tower's reach, Alaryc Vayne opened his eyes to a new, unfamiliar reality, his fate entwined with forces he had yet to understand.

The Empire's capital lay sprawling beneath a twilight sky, its myriad lights shimmering like scattered stars.

From atop the tallest building in the district, Angus stood, his silhouette sharp against the backdrop of the cityscape. His form was cloaked in a black mantle that rippled faintly in the cool night breeze. His face, a mosaic of shadows, bore the expression of a man weighed by purpose yet driven by resolve.

Far in the distance, the imperial palace loomed—a fortress of power and tradition, its golden spires catching the faintest glimmers of moonlight.

Angus's blue eyes, reminiscent of his son's, were fixed unblinkingly on the palace. His thoughts were turbulent but focused, a storm beneath an unyielding calm. Slowly, he spoke, his voice a quiet rumble, heavy with both determination and a hint of regret.

"My son," he began, his tone both a declaration and a whisper to the void, "it is time for you to know your purpose."

As if summoned by his words, the air behind him shimmered and coalesced into two distinct forms.

The first was a woman clad in a flowing, midnight-black gown that seemed to drink in the surrounding light. Her dark hair cascaded like a river of ink, and her pale skin glowed faintly, as though touched by moonlight.

She was Elsbeth, known infamously as The Witch of Midnight, a name that evoked fear and respect in equal measure. Her piercing violet eyes sparkled with intelligence and malice, and her lips curved into a knowing smile as she observed Angus.

The second figure was a man, his presence a stark contrast to Elsbeth's elegance. Clad in dark robes adorned with arcane symbols that glowed faintly in shades of crimson, he exuded menace and power.

This was Rhedel, the Shadowborne Magister, a dark wizard whose reputation had spread like wildfire across the continent. His bald head gleamed under the moonlight, and his eyes, a deep, unrelenting black, were devoid of any light or warmth.

Rhedel spoke first, his voice deep and resonant, like the echo of a cavernous void. "The preparations are complete," he announced, stepping forward to stand beside Angus.

"Everything is in place, and we are ready to move."

Elsbeth chuckled softly, her voice lilting like a deadly melody. "Ah, Angus, always the man of vision," she remarked, folding her arms gracefully. "You've waited long for this moment, haven't you? To bring the Empire to its knees... to awaken the truth in your bloodline."