Visions Through the Past (Foresight Trilogy Book One) Prologue *thisisthefinaldraftguysiswear*
Posted June 26th, 2014 by strawberry
A/N: So, when was the last time I posted something? Eh. I hope this is mediocre at best, and lovelies, if you read, then take ten seconds or more to comment because it truly makes my day.
Everyone knows the word, everyone knows its deep, hidden meanings and value. At the very least, every citizen of Wisteria is aware. It is the root of all emotions, the most ancient source from which magic is born.
Taken straight from an academy textbook, though, it can be simplified into the very essence of life, energizing when set ablaze, hopeless when stolen, powerful when absorbed, and faded when abused.
There are many more causes and effects of handling or mishandling one's spirit, but most important to be remembered is: dangerous when provoked.
At the moment, Rian Etherway’s spirit was bubbling and sizzling with rage. His short-tempered personality wasn't suitable to deal with the present events, but as Headmaster of one of the most prestigious schools of Mana-training, he had no choice.
Usually he was burdened with meetings with the insufferable Wisterian Council, or a decline in applicants for his facility, but for once, sadly, his problems weren't so simplistic.
The source of his temper was pinpointed on one person: Valtor Opalle.
Just the name set Rian on edge. His fists shook with contained frustration, he saw a flash of red, and orange and yellow followed suit, blending and dancing together. Hot tendrils of anger emanated from his side, growing larger, consuming more as the seconds ticked by.
Eventually, the smell of burning wood brought him back from his mental tantrum as he realized that he'd unwittingly set a chair on fire. Panicking, he squeezed his eyes shut, turning away from the charred mess of ash, desperately willing the color away. Sunset orange, his Achilles' Heel.
The flames dissipated. His palms were sweaty and still shaking, this time from fear, but he forced himself to focus.
A sorcerer who could control bodies, Valtor had kidnapped Wisterians who possessed magical abilities—at first, it was just a missing child, but as the incidents grew, a chain reaction of worry and fright ensued. The number of magical inhabitants was rapidly decreasing.
The vindication of the kidnaps was still unknown. As the man had never been on the radar since recently, there were no motives, no records of any sort about him. Stranger yet, there were no hints whatsoever as to what happened to the victims, who never seemed to return.
Rian eyed the papers on his desk. Sketches of blueprints. Earlier he had raided the Council's archives, and had somehow managed to get his hands on some messy map drafts of where Valtor's hideout might be. Apparently those bumbling fools had access to all sorts of information, and had the right to be privy of Rian's personal life, but didn't share valuable info themselves. Irritation flared up inside him but he pushed it down this time, concentrating on the matter at hand.
With this, he could track down the warlock. With it, he could bring him down once and for all. He knew he had the skill—his magic was one of the oldest, one of the rarest. Very few could stand up to the power of the Prism.
Rian had always been rather overconfident.
His worst decision; his last decision. He should have turned away, escaped. He should have run when he'd had the chance. But instead he'd watched his own life slip out of his fingers like fine grains of sand, falling to the bottom of the hourglass. He should have listened to the figurative ticking.
Tick, tick, tick, counting down to his oblivion.
It was inevitable, obviously inevitable, the moment he'd stepped into the lair he should have known it was a trap.
Hell, he might've even known that it was a trap, but ventured onwards nonetheless, too stubborn to turn back. His worst mistake; his last mistake.
Tick, tick, tick.
His time had run out. His determination had meant nothing in the presence of Valtor’s twisted spirit, something, as the headmaster of the Wisterian Mana Training Academy, he should have known best of all.
Dangerous when provoked.
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