One luminous night, a meteorite fell near the town of Ravenwood, landing atop a peak so steep that even the most skilled mages and knights struggled to climb it. Inside the meteorite was a black jewel, and within the jewel, a human child—miraculously alive.
At that moment, an old witch, who lived just below the peak, noticed the falling star and hurried to investigate. Her eyes fell upon the black jewel, and she gazed into the child trapped within. As she stared, her mind felt heavy and dark, almost shrinking under the sheer presence of the child. Yet, she quickly regained control, realizing that this child was something the world—perhaps even the universe—should fear.
Fifteen Years Later
The child had grown into a striking young man, whom the witch had named Nyxarion:
Nyx, from Greek mythology, meaning night or darkness.
Arion, carrying a sense of eternity and grandeur.
The witch had passed away three years earlier, but before her death, she had taught Nyxarion all the knowledge and etiquette a boy of his age could handle. She also left him two precious gifts: a pair of Aegis of the Bound—full-body, rune-etched armor that restrained latent power and prevented ultimate transformations—and a sturdy blacksteel sword. Though the sword was not as extraordinary as the armor, it had served her well.
Now fifteen, Nyxarion had permission to descend to the town of Ravenwood for the first time. His heart raced with nervous excitement; this would be his first encounter with humans since the witch's passing. Before he left, he remembered the final task the witch had given him: to seek out the "Witch that was One with the Darkness." Clad in his armor and armed with his sword, he carefully stepped down the rocky slopes. Each footfall echoed the countless hours of grueling training, and as the mountains—his crucible—receded behind him, the bright, bustling town lay ahead, full of life and possibility.
Nyxarion stepped through the town's gate, the worn wood creaking beneath his hand as if whispering tales of those who had passed before him. The air smelled of smoke, baked bread, and the faint tang of the river that wound through Ravenwood. Children ran along the cobblestone streets, laughing and shouting, while merchants called out their wares from colorful stalls.
Every sight and sound was new, overwhelming his senses after years of solitude in the mountains. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his blacksteel sword, feeling both excitement and unease. This world of light and life was so different from the harsh silence of his training ground, yet a part of him knew that this was where his real journey would begin.
Nyxarion wandered through the bustling streets until he spotted a modest inn, its sign swinging gently in the evening breeze. Remembering the twenty silver coins the witch had given him, he stepped inside, the warm glow of lanterns and the smell of roasted meat welcoming him after his long descent.
Uncertain of what to order, he approached the innkeeper. "Give me… something special," he said, unsure of what was considered a delicacy in this town. The innkeeper nodded with a knowing smile and soon placed a steaming plate before him.
As Nyxarion ate, his ears caught snippets of conversation from nearby patrons. "…the fire dragon's domain… in the next town, Emberfall…" one voice said, full of awe and fear. The words stirred something within him—a mixture of curiosity and excitement. A fire dragon, the kind everyone whispered about, existed so close. Without hesitation, Nyxarion decided he would see it for himself, eager to witness the power that had captivated so many.