Sol's Valor

Prologue

Shing!

A blade cried out alone in a dimly lit cavern as it lunged for its prey.

Ground rushed straight toward the two men who never saw Death's razor sharp scyth coming.

Appearing over the two, a mysterious warrior sheathed his satisfied blade.  He stepped forward, past the fallen foes focused on one thing—the glowing wall in front of him.

Portal-like, the wall glowed a bright blue as it swirled inward, yearning to have someone come near.  It beckoned to the intruder.  Walking lightly, he approached.

Bats fluttered overhead, escaping the startled chamber.  Soon after, the cave was filled with the smooth crackling of the torches perched on the moist walls.  The ceiling's tears trickled down from above onto the nape of his neck, sending an ominous tension throughout his body.

The blue light called out to him, drawing him closer.

As the intruder rounded the bend, arrows pierced the ground beside him.  In an instant, four more arrows were sliced in half, deflected right before his face.  Archers were perched high above the blue whirlpool—two more hidden defenders guarding the forever old secret of Emileian.

The first archer knocked an arrow, aimed to kill.  Moments before his fingers would allow his taught bow string play its melody, boulders fell from the sky, crushing the archer before he could yell out for help.  The second guard was able to let another arrow soar toward the intruder, but it was crushed against the strong metal of the man’s powerful armor.  When the archer turned, the intruder’s body began to glow a bright yellow.

As if ripping through space-time from another dimension, a giant yellow sword pierced the archer’s body, sending him to his knees.  When the magic sword dissipated so did the yellow aura around the intruder.  The chamber echoed with another chilled metal ring as the man sheathed his weapon once more.

The swirling blue vortex stood before him now.  He approached only to be gripped and swallowed by the cerulean light.

A scene far different from the dark cave was painted in front of his eyes.  The dripping stalactites and wet cavern walls were transformed into bright white tiles which were placed together, one after another, running up and down, for what seemed on into infinium.  The man’s boots clicked against the floor as he entered the confined chamber.  There were four ornate tiled pictures on the wall in front of him.  Each represented one of the four basic elements; twisting trees, flaring flames, whipping winds, and whirling waters.  This would be where the keys to the elements lay.

As the man walked confidently toward the tiled tree on the wall, it began to dimly glow.  He stretched his arm out and ran his fingers down the green indented tiles, following one of the branches down to the tree’s thick trunk.  The gentle amber glow of the magic swirled itself around his finger, snaking its way up his arm and whispered away past the nape of his neck.

It sent a chill down his spine.  This is what he had aimed to achieve his whole life.  It was down to these very moments and now nothing stood in his way; the power would be his to control.  He moved his hand toward the center of the picture and closed his eyes.

The glow of the tree intensified and the tiles began to ripple against his touch like the glass surface of a still pond.  A moment later his hand fell through the tiles into a small chamber no larger than his head.

His hand retreated with a small pebble-like object.

The yellow aura permeating from both the man and picture began to gravitate toward the stone, swirling around it like a whirlpool, eventually collapsing into itself.  The warrior dropped the brilliant crystal into a small pouch looped to his belt.  The pouch warmed from pitch black to shining yellow.

He continued toward the tiled wind picture.  He needed to grab the last three stones and he would be on his way to set the elements to life.  The whipping winds stood stead and greeted the intruder with the utmost dignity, whispering to him with its ominous purple glow.  He repaid the picture in kind by running his finger across it, gently following the graceful swirling wind depictions and finally placing his hand in the center.

This time, the tiles did not flow.

The man concentrated and forced more energy toward his hand; still nothing.  The tiles pulsated and finally dimmed to nothing, mocking him.  The chamber seemed to silently laugh at him as he tried the same with the water and flame pictures.  The water had the same effect as the wind—nothing.  The fire picture began to glow a very dim red, but the man was not able to get his hand through the picture and obtain another stone.

After a moment of thought, he knew what was wrong; he would need three others to assist him.  He looked to the ceiling of the sacred chamber and nodded as if acknowledging its existence.  He turned his back on the Lambency Sanctum with a new mission in mind.