Enid followed his parents through the woods, his head spinning with questions. But one look at their taut, focused expressions silenced him. Escape was their only priority now. At dawn, with the fetid ogre camp far behind, they finally halted in a secluded glen. Enid's mother waved her hand, and colorful runes flared briefly around them before fading. "We may speak freely now," she said. Turning to Enid, sadness filled her eyes. "I wish we had been honest with you from the beginning. But we wanted only to shelter you from strife and pain. To let you live a life of peace, as we never could."Enid glanced between them. "Then...it's true? You have some secret power?"His father nodded grimly. "Your mother comes from an ancient line blessed with magic by the Light itself. And I was once a warrior of the order your great grandfather founded - the Torchbearers." He unstrapped the shield from his back. "I thought these days past, with the darkness banished. But recent omens spoke of evil

In the wake of the witch's attack, the surviving Torchbearers desperately tried to regroup. But their numbers were ravaged, their stronghold left ruined. Without more power, they could not hope to stand against the evil now awakened in the world. Arik tirelessly scoured the archives for anything that could help turn the tide. Late one night, blinded by grief and exhaustion, he knocked over an oil lamp. Flames licked up ancient pages and tomes before he could stop them. But there, in a concealed compartment behind the shelves, Arik spotted an ornate chest glowing from within. He lifted it free of the fire, hands shaking as he pried it open.Nestled inside was an object not seen for centuries among mortals: a shard of pure celestial crystal, pulsing with inner light. Legends told of the Torchbearers once wielding such shards as conduits of divine power. But their origins had long since passed from memory.Reverently lifting the crystal, Arik felt its energy wash over him, driving back

Though the demonic breach had been sealed, a pall of dread lingered over the land. Dark rumors spread as people lived in fear of evil resurging. Many flocked to the Torchbearers seeking protection, overwhelming their recovery efforts. Mara spent long nights in the archives searching for anything that could revive hope and stability. One dusty volume contained forbidden blood magic rituals, capable of terrifying power if misused. Mara brought the book to Leonard, suggesting they lock it away lest it corrupt weaker minds.But a shadow passed over the aging warrior's face as he thumbed through the ancient pages. "No," he said slowly. "We must use this knowledge, but for good."Despite Mara's misgivings, Leonard began gathering mages sympathetic to their cause, teaching them to draw on their own life force to fuel spells of protection and healing. The techniques spread rapidly, letting even common folk wield magic to defend their homes or turn the soil blighted by demonic taint.For a ti

Years passed as Talia traveled across the kingdom, covertly spreading the Torchbearers’ values and lore to those disillusioned with evil’s reign. Her network of allies slowly grew, though they remained scattered and hidden. Sheltering from a winter storm in a remote mountain hamlet, Talia met a young apothecary named Damien. He offered her cryptic but enticing rumors of an organized resistance movement called the Silver Sparks rising in the western forests. Talia set out to investigate these claims immediately. But the distance was great, and required passing through marshlands now occupied by parasitic wraiths that drained travelers’ life force. Many had attempted the crossing, but none returned. Undeterred, Talia relied on her Torchbearer training to weave protective wards around herself and her horse. She set forth into the ghostly swamps, trusting in the magic to shield them. But as the days stretched on, an insidious chill seeped through Talia’s barriers, sapping her strengt

The mist clung close about Talia as she ventured deeper into the trackless marshlands. In the distance, wavering wisps of light marked the village she had departed, where the townsfolk yet celebrated being freed from an ancient curse. But the lingering grief over the murdered Beaconite girl tempered any satisfaction Talia felt in lifting their spirit plague. She knew the villagers would not mourn the innocent child, whose open empathy for perceived darkness had made her suspect in their eyes. Talia sighed, the chill air burning her throat. However naively, the girl had walked her own path right until its tragic end. Talia resolved to do the same, wherever her road led next. If she could help even one more understand that light and dark were woven together, not opposed, the child's death would not be entirely in vain.Near nightfall, Talia reached a narrow boat landing she knew to mark the marsh's northernmost edge. She settled down weary but restless, awaiting the ferry at dawn to c