In The Age of Death

Balance is existence. This is the fundamental truth of the world. Life can only exist through balance, magic can only be achieved by balancing the scale of power. For a thousand years, this statement has held true. In five days, that balance will be broken.

Faera

The sound of thunderous galloping tore through the air. Beads of sweat made their way down her face. Faera was in a race against time, and it was one she could not afford to lose. This was the third horse she had commandeered. She would ride them from town to town, and when the horse was too tired to go on, she would exchange it for another. Even with her disheveled, worn appearance, all it would take was a small display of magic, and the townsfolk would be more than happy to bend over backwards to help her. Magic was rare in this world, and those who could wield it, were even rarer.

Faera had been awake for the last 3 nights, fueling herself with magic, a dangerous tactic, but a necessary one. There was so little time before “it” would take place, safety was not a concern she had. The sorceress had to make it back home to Valdor. She had been gone for 20 years, there were very few people left in the city that would be able to recognize the firstborn daughter of Calion, the 134th king of the Valdorian empire. A lifetime ago, that might have been an upsetting truth to bear. But now, the weight of eternity drags her forward on her path.

She was close now, Valdor was visible on the horizon. She could make out the tall imposing grey walls which were built, destroyed and rebuilt over centuries of war. If you were closer, you would be able to spot makeshift patches over where boulders had landed before. There were hundreds of these patches all over the wall, crudely repaired. A past that still echoed into today.

Faera pulled back down on the reins, and brought her horse to a hard stop. She was close enough now to her home. It was time to make the decision that she had spent the last few days anxiously mulling over. She could walk straight through the front gate of the city, and all the way to the castle, and demand her father’s help, or she could go about it her own way. Her father, Calion, was a wise king, and that was the problem. The truth she bore could not be understood by wise men, it went against everything she knew about the world, and yet, she had seen it with her own eyes for the last 20 years. It was as true as sin.

She decided to go with her own plan. Faera knew that there wasn’t a real choice to make. She only wanted to avoid what she already knew. The king would never believe her, much less provide her with the power to stop it. Not that she could blame him. Who would believe her? Who would believe that there was someone in this world who could upset the balance of nature and challenge Death itself?