Romans & histoires Tale Of The Forsaken Mage

Old healer notes from times of war. Some mention strange beasts—shadow-bound wolves that tore through packs and vanished like smoke. But one scroll stops me cold. Its ink is faded, but the words are clear: “Beware the dark familiar. Called forth by the warlock Magnus during the first rise. Fed on fear. Eyes red as flame. Could twist the minds of the weak. Could wear the skin of the dead.” I drop the scroll. My breath catches in my throat. It’s real. What I saw wasn’t just a nightmare. It was his.

I blink back the tears and ask him, “Why didn't you mark me?” He sighs. “The seer at the hospital…” He hesitates before continuing. “She said you can start healing faster if your fate marks you.” I blink. Once. Twice. Let the words settle like frostbite on my bones. “So… you didn’t mark me because you thought someone else would?” He says nothing. “But you knew,” I whisper. “You knew the Moon Compass never pointed for me. You knew my fate doesn’t exist.”

"Lying? Then let's do a DNA test if you dare, you filthy slut." He pointed a shaking finger at them all, his voice dropping to a quiet echo of damnation. "Helen's child was to carry the Hurst bloodline! You killed my child!" With that, he grabbed a vase from the table and hurled it in their direction. Chaos erupted in the hall as screams, shouts, and cries flew in every direction. Francis and Bella clutched the shrieking Kate and the crying newborn, fleeing in panic. Maria and Darius, faces dark with dread, stumbled out behind them.

“What is this?” “You wanted to know why I want you to go back with Viola. Read this then. Just the first few pages,” he says. I gaze at him dubiously before opening the page and see words and symbols I have never seen before. But before I can say anything, he chants a spell again and automatically whatever gibberish was written shifts and reforms into readable words. My eyes widen and I file the question regarding this for later at the back of my mind. My eyes fall upon the word ‘Mage Wolf’

Its color was strange though, it was multicolored, it was really beautiful and she wanted to ask Paige if her mother had a mark like that as well but when she looked at her, Paige was wide-eyed and she was looking at her mark as if she couldn't believe her eyes so she curiously asked her, "Is there something wrong?" Paige then closed her mouth when she realized it was wide open, and she then said to her torn between the embarrassment of her behavior and the amazement at what she had just discovered, "If I tell you that you are the one and only legendary mage in all Astoria, would you believe me?" A legendary mage thought Cassy... Why does that sound so familiar... And then she paled as she r

“We need instructions. We need rules. If we just dive in, we’re dead.” Morgana exhales slowly, almost a shiver passing through her. “The portal is a labyrinth, alive and aware. It will show your deepest desires, your fears, your regrets… and it will use them. To rescue her, you must resist its temptations. Recognize them as illusions. Reject them. Know who you are and who she is to you. Only then can you reach her.” I tremble, voice breaking. “And if I fail?” Amara’s gaze sharpens. “Then you stay. And she… may stay as well. Forever.” I let out a strangled cry and stumbled back, clenching my fists.I have a greater destiny then to become a victim of a fairy trap.

I approached the pedestal, heart racing, while Damien stood a few paces behind me, his expression unreadable. I hesitated, then reached out and opened the tome. The pages were filled with intricate symbols, archaic text, and sketches of creatures that defied explanation. As I skimmed the pages, I began to piece together a narrative of balance and chaos—a tale of an order that had sought to harness the raw forces of creation and destruction. The text spoke of a “Chosen Vessel,” a being who would carry the mark of the Forsaken and become a conduit for ancient power. It described a ritual of transformation, a dangerous process that could either elevate a mortal to near-divine status or condemn

returned from shadow-walks smelling of nothing absent, scrubbed from existence and only partially restored. I tore through the final shelf in the archive with desperate fingers, scrolls cascading to stone. My torch flickered, throwing wild shadows. Then I found it: ancient scrolls bound in flesh-string. The parchment crackled like dry leaves as I unfurled them, forgotten language spilling across the surface like dried blood. "Realm of the Forsaken," I whispered. A cursed dimension where guardian spirits who broke their oaths were cast, starved of light, sealed with sorrow. I hesitated briefly. What mother would not risk damnation to save her children?

“You think he wrote something else about the Forsaken?” “He knew more than he let on,” Nicola replied. “I just need to find it.” Finally, she came upon a passage that caught her attention. The page was heavily annotated, the handwriting sharper and more hurried than usual. “The creation of Forsaken is not random - it’s deliberate. A corrupted energy source fuels their transformation, but it requires a willing participant to guide the process. Look for the signs of manipulation, the whispers of betrayal among your own.” Nicola’s heart skipped a beat. “A willing participant…”

“Go on.” “A mage. One willing to get us through the Cursed Forest.” My pulse kicked. “Mages don’t work for the crown.” “This one doesn’t care. He’s not loyal to anyone but he’s willing to negotiate.” “Where is he?” “Not far. But…” Magnus lowered his voice. “He’s tricky and dangerous.” I smirked. “Good. So am I.” Magnus didn't argue. He turned and led the way. ---- The old mage sat inside what seemed to be a poorly lit tomb. His long, bony fingers tapping against a wooden staff that looked as old as he did. His sharp eyes followed Magnus and I as we stepped inside.