Kai and the sorcerer

Once upon a time, in a far-away land called Hopeville, there lived a powerful and wicked sorcerer named Malikwu. Malikwu was a cruel tyrant who struck down anyone who dared to cross his path, holding the villagers of Hopeville in a constant state of fear. Every month, the sorcerer descended upon the village to collect a heavy tax. He would seize anything of value—gold, jewels, or coins—and for those who had nothing to offer, the price was far steeper. Malikwu would mercilessly take their lives and burn their homes to the ground, leaving nothing but ash and sorrow behind. Among the villagers lived a family named Valoris, a name synonymous with bravery and hard work. Despite the darkness surrounding them, they remained the heart of the community. Today the Valoris legacy rests on the shoulders of two brothers, the only descendants left of their noble line. Both are strong, grown men: Bhaskar, the elder brother at forty years old, and Bhalin, his junior brother at thirty. Together they stand as the last hope for a family known for its courage, living in a village that has forgotten what it feels like to be free. The arrival of malikwu The air in Hopeville grew cold, and the birds stopped singing. A heavy purple mist began to roll down from the jagged hills—the sign that the month was up. Malikwu was coming. In the center of the village, the people gathered in a trembling line, clutching small pouches of gold or heirlooms. Bhaskar stood at the front of the Valoris cottage, his hand resting firmly on Bhalin’s shoulder. He could feel his younger brother shaking, not with fear, but with a growing, silent rage. “Stay calm, Bhalin,” Bhaskar whispered, his voice low and steady. “Today is not the day to fight. We watch and wait.” Suddenly, a crack of thunder split the sky and Malikwu appeared.He didn't walk. He seemed to glide above the dirt, his long obsidian robes trailing behind him like liquid shadow. His eyes were not human; they glowed with a faint sickly green light that searched for weakness. "The moon has turned," Malikwu's voice echoed, sounding like dry leaves scraping against stone. "I have come for my tribute. Who among you is prepared to pay and who is prepared to burn?" He stopped in front of an elderly man at the end of the line. The old man's hands shook as he opened a small wooden box. Inside was a single gold coin—all he had left in the world. Malikwu looked at the coin, then up at the man with a cruel smile that spread across his lips. "One coin? You value your life so little, old man?"