“Ostend energias kraptus,” reveal the hidden power. In the dark of night, four men stride through the village which is expertly hidden by powerful wards and spells. By whom remains a mystery. A village of magic and power; a village full of innocent children who know nothing of their identity. Their parents live here to protect the children and train them, unknowingly, to be part of the rebelling army against these men’s malevolent master. The adults live for the children. This place is full of power, it must be destroyed:the unanimous thought of all four men. Approaching each house, they position their hands on the front doors to locate the trace of a single power; a job for only the strongest. Halfway through the village, the force is found in a small house with the presence of six people: two adults, four children. Singling out the source of the power, they discover it is one of least expectance.
“A fifteen-year old girl?! How can that child be the wielder of such power?” demands one, disgusted.
“This is preposterous; she has the potential of becoming more powerful than us all combined when she becomes of age! How does she have this strength?!” exclaims a second
“You fools! Do you not realize she holds the Power of all? She is the new Host. That is the trace you have been searching for! From her comes all powers. She is shielded from the knowledge of the magical world which means her own powers are dwindled. When the child turns sixteen, she will be a candle in the dark and will hide no longer.
“It is because of the boy that our minds are darkened, and that secrecy of this place has been prolonged for so long. Already of age, he has somehow hidden himself from the sight and knowledge of us. Had he not, we would have sensed him sooner. If he is this strong at such a young age, then the girl will be either just as strong or stronger. Over the many generations, sometimes one of the Hosts is stronger than the other. Beware both of them either way. This boy most definitely is the second half of the Source; no one else could be this powerful at such a young age,” hisses a menacing voice from behind the men.
The Source. In the beginning were the first with power, a man and a woman who are the first parents to the line of magics. On their deathbeds, the Ancient Ones, by which they are known, passed on the Source of Power to two others, always one male and one female, to maintain balance. Along with the Source, they supplied their own memories and a fragment of their spirits for the Chosen Ones. When called upon, they can even assist the Hosts. Long has it been since the Ancient Ones were last summoned, for the human mind has been corrupted of late. The world carries on without peace for hundreds of thousands of years, while the Ancient Ones do not interfere without being woken from their slumber.
“The recently deceased man and woman have blessed these two children with the power. Evidence of their deaths have been confirmed. I saw them myself and attempted to see if they still carried the Source within them to no avail. The power was already exposed to the children. Long I searched for the direction of the power, but I lost the tracks when arriving at these surrounding woods. It caught me off guard, I admit, but now I understand why. Here they are, vulnerable, weak, exposed.
“The boy shields this place from the world to protect the girl while she is unaware, while the Matriarch ensured their safety with her blood sacrifice. Even by just standing here, her spirit tries to disintegrate your very essence; she knows what you are here to do. She has thwarted my plans long enough, but no longer! We will overcome her protection. Nothing will remain of their home; all shall perish by flames and spells. Take the girl, she is naïve; the boy, who is too dangerous for you, will come after her and then both shall be in our control. The Source shall be ours to command.” The voice continues.
The mysterious speaker then departs, leaving the men pondering over their instructions. The knowledge of the Matriarch’s actions unsettles them, leaving them looking over their shoulders as though expecting her spirit to materialize behind them. While shivering in the dark, the men review the laid-out battle plans. After many an hour passes, a decision is reached, and the men disperse, preparing for what will become the turn of history. The Attack. Each vanish into the night, gathering their followers, gathering all they can to help overpower the fortified village. As they leave, the villagers sleep on tranquilly not knowing what awaits them the next day, nor that their lives are in the gravest danger possible.
As they leave, an almost inaudible phrase escapes the village barriers, “Marïs a Evanensan den duruén,” Fate and Death are cruel. Around the village, the blood of the Matriarch rises to the surface and bubbles with agitation until, once again, returning to the earth.