Shard of the Sun

INTRODUCTION I have climbed the peaks of Hell, mountains formed from the souls of sin. I have bathed in the fires of brimstone, flames fueled by souls consumed with hatred. I have talked with demons, their lips sweet with the promises of power … Hell loomed before him. Ferrin cursed his weak body. Time had taken its toll on his shell of flesh, and he knew all too well what he was destined for. There had to be a way to escape his fate. And the answer, he believed, lay within the vexatious city of Ravendale, but those blasted warrior-priests protected it. While he and his apprentices could easily crush them, they could not get past the magical shield they had erected over the city. Ferrin had tried once, much to his dismay, to enter the city by force. He lost several apprentices and the shield had burned him severely. The many scars covering his body were a testament to the power of the shield. He gripped the worn wood of his staff, putting most of his weight on it, and shuffled feebly over to the window. One of his novices, Vius, stood by his door at all times in the event he needed something. The young man moved as if to help him, but the piercing look Ferrin gave the apprentice stopped the man cold. “I am not helpless!” Ferrin said angrily. Once, he would have killed over an indiscretion like that. But now … those seeking to learn the darker side of magic were few. He needed them all, much to his dislike. It was another reminder of his weakness. Ferrin pushed the window open and was assaulted by a blast of icy wind. The gust blew his hood back, whipping it around wildly. The cold wasteland of Eurn was a cruel and harsh land. The days were cold and merciless, the nights much more severe. But it served his purposes. Out of the prying eyes of those who sought his destruction, Ferrin was free to do as he wished in secret. The sky was black. No stars could be seen through the mass of dark clouds that brought snow falling in copious amounts. Ferrin stared out at the empty land, barren and covered in winter’s breath. It had been eighty years. Eighty long years since his escape from Hell. He admitted his foolishness to himself. Attempting to take over the nightmarish land of demons, he found that he was sorely overpowered. He knew the truth of life in the moment of his escape. And it drove him to find a way to avoid going back. His magic could no longer prolong the inevitable. His body was beginning to fail. The knowledge of possessing another body through the power of his will had been lost during the war with the demons. Ferrin needed something strong enough to rejuvenate his body. The priests of Ravendale were always preaching about eternal life. Yet Ferrin believed there was more to their claims than just metaphorical theologies. Their savior was, after all, Ferrin’s own nephew. And the faith that had blossomed after the war only added to his frustration. Ferrin himself had once been a priest of the gods, and he had willingly chosen the other side. But these people believed something different. “No matter,” he whispered to himself. As he stared up into the sky, he heard a loud rumbling like thunder followed by a bright flash. Ferrin leaned forward, sticking his head out into the whipping wind. Snow and ice pelted his face, but he kept his focus on the sky. Through gaps in the clouds, he could see a streaking light steadily descending toward the earth. Could it be? “You!” Ferrin cried. He heard Vius approach. Ferrin pulled his head back inside and turned his eyes on the young man. “Get the others, quickly. I have a task for you.”