Ale's journey: The rise of an adventurer

The rain pounded heavily on the drenched cobblestones of Devalin, so thick and violent it seemed to cascade directly from the sky, accompanied by thunderclaps that echoed like hammer strikes on the earth. A strange, flickering aura, oscillating between white and black, hovered over the square, forming an ethereal shield. This magical barrier repelled the torrential downpour, instantly evaporating each raindrop that attempted to breach the ritual’s perimeter.

Ale, hidden among the crowd, observed in silence. The muffled cries of parents, their hearts shattered under the weight of the ceremony, reminded him of his own suffering, the one he had endured when separated from his grandfather.

A few meters away, a mother, her eyes swollen and red from crying, could barely stand, her body shaking with spasms of despair. “My poor Bea... She’s only ten years old...” she murmured, her voice barely audible beneath the rain but filled with a sadness that broke the hearts of all who heard her.

Beside her, a father, his features contorted with grief, spoke to no one in particular, his voice trembling, "My Ben... I won’t see him anymore at the end of my workdays. He won’t run to greet me..."

Ale clenched his fists. He could feel the injustice of the situation, and anger surged within him, burning just beneath the surface. How could such cruelty be tolerated, month after month, under the guise of appeasing a spirit?

Not far from him, other residents, less directly affected, murmured among themselves, their voices both curious and indifferent. "Which families are involved this time?" one of them asked, glancing at the procession advancing under the rain.

Another answered, listing the names in a low, monotonous voice: "The Velan family, the Meride family... and the Sadrien family."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the group. "The Sadrien family? Even a noble family is involved in the ceremony this time! The baron really does treat everyone equally, then..."

But another voice cut in with a note of suspicion, "Yes, but… their daughters, the ones in the ceremony... They adopted them just this morning!"

Ale, alerted by that last sentence—two recently adopted girls participating in the ceremony the very same day? It couldn't be a coincidence.

The procession moved slowly toward the platform, each step echoing dully on the main street, drowned under the relentless rain. The white-bearded mage, standing atop the massive platform, descended slowly. His dark cloak billowed behind him as he positioned himself before the procession. The chant, which had been rising in intensity, now enveloped the entire square. His deep, resonant voice seemed to echo through the air, filling it with a terrifying power. The black-and-white aura hovering above began to thicken and pulse, vibrant with mystical, ominous energy.

Camouflaged among the villagers, Ale moved cautiously, calculating each step. His sharp gaze scanned the procession, closely observing each child perched atop the oxen, desperately searching for the two missing girls. The chant filled his ears, but he remained focused, his senses on high alert.

Suddenly, his heart raced. His eyes lit up as he recognized two faces among the children. There, atop the oxen, sat Liora and Mirin. He immediately recognized them from the precise descriptions Chance had given him: Liora’s golden blonde curls and Mirin’s piercing emerald eyes, both too young, too innocent to understand the fate awaiting them.

A wave of relief washed over Ale, but it was quickly replaced by an unwavering determination. It was no longer just about saving Liora and Mirin. As he looked at the other children, all captives of this grim ritual, Ale knew he had to go further. He had to save all the victims of this ceremony. Every child, every innocent soul, had to be freed from this cruel fate.

The procession slowly made its way through the central square, heading toward the river. The baron’s castle loomed on the opposite side, imposing and silent, like a distant observer of this dark procession. On the castle ramparts, Baron Alfred, surrounded by his court, watched the scene with solemnity. His gaze followed the procession as it neared the bridge, where the ritual boat waited, ready to carry the children and offerings to their destiny.

When the procession stopped at the foot of the bridge, just before boarding the boat, the baron raised his hand to signal he would speak. Despite the relentless rain and the hum of incantations echoing around him, his powerful voice cut through the noise.

“My faithful subjects,” he began solemnly, “The sacrifices of your children and the contributions of your livestock will not be in vain. These children are the saviors of our barony, and because of them, we will survive the spirit’s wrath.”

He paused, scanning the faces of the villagers. Some were resigned, others desperate. “These children will return to us as heroes,” he continued, though the weight of his words seemed hollow, drained of conviction. “They are not lost. They are servants of a divine spirit, and through them, our land will live.”

The baron’s words, though wrapped in a comforting promise, rang strangely hollow in the air, as if they had been repeated too often to retain any true meaning. The expressions in the crowd were mixed: some villagers clung desperately to this promise, while others, heavy-hearted, sank into a silence of resignation.

For Ale, those words only strengthened his resolve. He knew this ceremony was nothing more than a facade, that the children wouldn’t return as heroes. They were pawns in a dark, corrupted ritual, manipulated by forces far crueler than even the baron or his court could comprehend.

The procession finally reached the edge of the river, where the sacred boat waited, motionless on the dark water. It was a simple vessel, large enough to carry the entire procession. The children gently dismounted from the oxen, silent, almost as if they knew this moment was inevitable.

The mage boarded first, followed by the children, their steps barely audible on the wet wooden planks. Once all the children were aboard, the mage raised his arms, eyes closed, as if invoking something invisible, while the ancient chants resumed, resonating in the heavy air above the river.

Meanwhile, the animals—the oxen, pigs, and goats—were led to the bridge overlooking the river. The villagers nervously guided them, knowing the next step would be the most heartbreaking. Their murmurs filled the air, whispered prayers to the river spirit. The mage’s chants, growing more intense, seemed to harmonize with the surrounding nature.

Suddenly, a massive shadow appeared beneath the surface of the water, slowly gliding under the bridge. The colossal creature, invisible beneath the river’s agitated surface, projected a crushing presence. Those gathered on the bridge instantly understood: it was the spirit of the river, the deity they sought to appease. Terrified but resigned to their fate, the villagers began tossing the animals into the water, one by one.

The oxen were the first to be cast into the river. As soon as they hit the water, the creature, still unseen beneath the surface, grabbed and devoured them with terrifying speed. Each time an animal disappeared into the depths, a wave of mixed relief and dread swept through the crowd. The villagers watched with eyes full of fear and wonder. The pigs and goats followed, each quickly consumed by the creature that seemed insatiable.

Once all the animals had been sacrificed, the water calmed slightly, but the creature’s massive shadow remained. It moved slowly, gliding beneath the surface until it was directly under the boat. The creature’s immense back then began to rise, gently lifting the boat with surprising delicacy for a being of such size. Its scaly back now served as a platform for the vessel, which rested on the colossal creature.

The villagers, seeing the creature carry the boat, were torn between awe and terror. Some fell to their knees, silently praying that the spirit would accept this sacrifice and bring peace to the barony. Others whispered among themselves, fascinated by how the spirit manipulated the boat.

Ale, hidden in the crowd, watched all this with sharp eyes. He now fully understood the creature’s power. As he prepared to act, Ale felt the weight of the mask in his pocket—the mask Chance had given him earlier. He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts swirling. But seeing the villagers’ distress and the shadow of the dark ritual looming over them, Ale knew. He had to be more than just himself. He had to become a symbol of hope.

The boat, now supported by the creature, began to glide forward, carried by the enormous river spirit. It moved silently, slowly crossing the calm waters as the villagers, powerless, watched it drift away. Ale knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

Ensuring his mask was securely in place, he sprinted toward the edge of the bridge. Just as the boat passed below, Ale leaped with agility, landing on the deck with a perfect roll. As he rose to his feet, his determined gaze locked onto the dark mage, who this time, could no longer ignore his presence.

“Who dares interrupt this sacred ritual?” demanded the mage, his voice rumbling but not without a hint of surprise. His tone was calm, almost calculating, as he sized up the intruder. Ale, his face hidden behind the mask, replied calmly, his voice carried by the wind.

“I am the Prince of Light,” he declared confidently. The legendary name suddenly felt like his own. “And I’ve come to save these children.”

The mage narrowed his eyes. “Save these children? Do you truly think you understand what’s happening here?” He paused, observing Ale with an intensity that was almost unsettling.

"These children are already saved. They serve a greater purpose, one you cannot begin to comprehend," the mage continued, his voice calm but laced with a cold, ominous undertone.

Ale took a step forward, his resolve unwavering. "I can feel the dark magic in your ritual. Your chants don’t deceive me. You’re manipulating these innocents for your own gain."

The mage tilted his head slightly, intrigued. "Dark magic, you say?" he murmured, his voice softening almost to a whisper. "Light and shadow are but two sides of the same coin." His gaze darkened, though he still appeared unthreatened. "Only those who master both can survive in this cruel world."

On the riverbank, some villagers broke into sobs, praying desperately that their children would be spared, hoping beyond hope to see them again. Others, paralyzed by fear, stood frozen, their eyes fixed on the boat as it drifted further from the shore.

The massive creature, now moving faster, was carrying the boat away, deeper into the river’s current. The villagers, too terrified to act, could only watch as the vessel, carried by the divine creature, grew smaller and smaller as it floated into the distance.