The Kleronomy - The Arcane Anomaly

Prologue

THE NIGHT in Luthenholm was never quiet, but tonight, the sounds filling the air were not of joy, but of screams, howls, and the clashing of iron against iron, magic against flesh, magic against metal. Flames rose from burning houses, black smoke spiraling into the sky like ghostly hands tearing at the souls falling in the battlefield.

A little farther from the chaos in Luthenholm, a woman ran through the dark forest. The rain poured heavily, but it wasn't enough to mask her tracks. She knew she was being hunted. 

Her thin arms tightly held something—a basket containing a baby wrapped in a tattered blue shawl, shielded from the rain. The baby cried, its tiny voice almost drowned out by the thunder roaring in the sky.

The woman slipped on the wet ground, landing hard on her back, but she quickly got up. The pain from the fall didn't concern her at all. In her heart—let her child be safe. Her child needed to know what fate is,  how beautiful it is. Her breath was short, her eyes wild, searching for a way. In the distance, the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer.

Indeed, she didn't have much time.

Before her, a raging river surged beneath the flashing lightning. The water was black, the current wild, but this was the only path that lay open. With trembling fingers, she placed the basket with the baby on the ground, then slowly pulled the edge of her blue shawl, covering the baby's small face with the tenderness and love of a mother.

Unaware, tears fell down her cheeks, slicing through her skin. She was now carrying a feeling she had never experienced during the nine months of carrying the child— the conscience of a mother.

"F.. forgive me, dear. I love you," she whispered heavily.

She closed the rune circle with the shawl she had just used, placing it over the child's chest. The Rune Circle was still fresh, pulsing with dark purple. With great sorrow, she pushed the basket into the current. The basket swayed before being carried far out of sight, spinning in the whirlpool.

The sound of a broken twig behind her made her quickly turn. Her sharp eyes caught shadows moving between the trees. They had arrived.

Without looking back, she ran. She glanced back for a moment, seeing the small basket continuing to drift, slowly swallowed by the thick darkness of the night.

However, as soon as she turned back ahead, she jolted and her steps halted involuntarily when a man in a black cloak with his face hidden in shadow stood right before her. He appeared from nowhere.

The man asked in a hoarse voice, "Where is the baby?"

***

YEARS BEFORE THAT, before Luthenholm fell into war, fate had already been written in blood.

Three kingdoms united under the rule of one dynasty, but a prophecy had made them seem as though they were on the verge of cracking, even though the crack had yet to appear.

"When the last of them is born, the world of magic will tremble, and the heir to the throne will be the key between light and darkness. For he is the line between light and dark, reality and dreams."

But who was the heir?

In the grand palace standing in the northern corner of the Etherea kingdom, the leaders gathered in a secret meeting. Their eyes were heavy with worry, their hands clenched in tension.

Inside the Great Hall, at the top of Raventhrone—the seat of a king who had long ruled with wisdom, but tonight, wisdom was not enough to stop what had been set in motion long ago.

"If this prophecy is true, then the world will never know peace as long as he is alive," the voice of the King echoed in the hall, while before him floated a thick book, its pages open.