The Scribe and the Anima Stone (Chapter 1)
Lucius dipped his reed pen into the inkpot, the familiar scrape on parchment a small comfort in the cool, stone confines of the Grand Archives. His current task was tedious – transcribing aging tax records from a long-forgotten province. Outside, the city of Veridia bustled, its life a steady rhythm Lucius rarely partook in, content within the quiet halls where history resided in neat, predictable scrolls.
The whispers of Warlord Gaius and his Shadow Tribes felt incredibly distant here. Barbarians in the frozen North, ravaging border settlements – grim news, certainly, but Veridia’s mighty walls and the formidable Legions of Veritas seemed an insurmountable barrier.
Today, however, was different. He’d been assigned to assist Master Archivist Claudius in cataloging a sub-basement vault, recently unsealed after centuries. Legends said it contained relics from the time of the First Kingdom, before the current Empire of Veritas rose to power.
The air in the vault was heavy, thick with the scent of deep earth and something else, something cold and ancient that prickled Lucius’s skin. It wasn’t dust; it felt… expectant. Rows of empty pedestals lined the walls, suggesting items long removed or perhaps disintegrated. But in the center, atop a low stone altar, lay a single object.
It was a stone, unremarkable in shape, grey and weathered, yet radiating a faint, constant warmth that defied the vault’s chill. Etched with swirling, complex patterns that seemed to shift just at the edge of his vision, it pulsed with a soft, inner light. The Anima Stone, Claudius had murmured reverently, referencing forgotten legends.
As Claudius fumbled with a fragile scroll nearby, explaining the ritual meant to handle such relics, a distant sound rumbled through the stone floor – deep, resonant, and utterly terrifying. Not thunder. The sound of shattering stone, followed by a chorus of screams. The city walls. Breached.
The unthinkable had happened. Warlord Gaius was here. Now.
Panic, raw and animal, seized Lucius. He was a scribe! Not a soldier! He looked at Claudius, who was staring towards the ceiling, his face pale with horror. His eyes fell on the Anima Stone. It pulsed brighter now, the warmth intensifying, a tiny defiance against the wave of fear sweeping through him.
Instinct, not courage, drove him. Ignoring the ancient ritual Claudius had described, Lucius reached out and snatched the Stone.
The moment his fingers closed around it, a shockwave, not of sound but of pure energy, surged through him. His vision swam, filled with fleeting, overwhelming images – soaring eagles, roots deep in the earth, faces crying out in pain and hope, a sense of deep connection to the very ground beneath him. The Stone in his hand flared with brilliant golden light, casting long shadows in the vault.
Footsteps pounded above, heavy and chaotic. Shouts, guttural and foreign, mingled with the screams. The archives were not safe.
Claudius turned, his eyes wide with disbelief and dawning fear as he saw the glowing Stone in Lucius’s hand. “You… you fool! You weren’t prepared!”
But there was no time for recriminations. A section of the ceiling above groaned and collapsed, dust and rubble raining down, followed by the chilling, triumphant roar of a Shadow Tribe warrior.
Lucius didn’t hesitate. Clinging to the Stone, he scrambled towards a narrow gap in the wall he’d noticed earlier, a forgotten service tunnel. He could hear Claudius’s startled cry, the crash of debris, the guttural shouts growing closer. He plunged into the darkness, the Anima Stone in his hand his only light, its warmth a strange reassurance against the cold terror pursuing him.
He stumbled through the tunnel, guided by the Stone’s glow, the sounds of chaos fading behind him. He emerged into a dark alleyway, the air filled with smoke and the distant clang of steel. The city was under siege. He was outside the Archives, alone, a scribe holding a legendary artifact, thrust into a world of war and magic he barely understood.
As he stood there, disoriented, a figure rounded the corner, sword in hand, armour dented, face smudged with grime and blood. A Legionary. Valeria. Her eyes, sharp and focused, scanned the alley, then widened when they landed on him and the glowing Stone.
“By the Gods,” she breathed, her voice rough with exhaustion and shock. “The legends are true. The Anima Stone… and you… who are you, civilian?”
Lucius, the humble scribe, looked at the battle-worn warrior, the glowing Stone in his hand, and the burning city around them. His quiet life was over. His epic had begun.
