Dark Legacy Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Year 802

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Draco Cyriius woke up earlier than most boys his age. But it wasn’t because he was preparing for the day ahead; he just simply wanted to get a jump on the trouble he planned to cause. Draco lacks heavily in the maturity department, but what he lacks he makes up for in an insatiable taste for mischief. Even at the young age of twelve, he was known in the village he lived in as “the resident troublemaker”. Some wondered how someone so bothersome could come from such a prestigious family. Others just blamed it on the fact that he was a demon. Draco had a grin that made you think that you were his friend, and at the same time, made you wonder what he might be up to next.

Draco’s father was Walker Cyriius, a well-respected and skilled warrior called a Sorcerite, a warrior trained to uphold peace and order between the races of man and demon, and even between man and man. His reputation was known throughout the lands as one of the bravest Sorcerites in the western land. His trademark was his sword; a legendary blade christened the Dark Legacy because all who bear it met an untimely death, or live a life in misery. But that was just a rumor. It was even rumored to house a soul of its own. Despite this legend, it was used by great men throughout history, from kings to martyrs to mighty knights.

Draco obtained his demon heritage from his mother, Fiona Cyriius. Fiona was from a proud and peaceful race of demons, and was greatly known for her kindness and generosity. She always had a smile on her face. However, for those who have seen her fight, they know that such kindness can hide great power. Although peaceful by nature and virtually with no temper, Fiona was capable of fighting magnificently. when in time of need, Fiona would utilizing impeccable speed wielding two daggers known as Dia Blades. Walker met Fiona during his travels in search of the Dark Legacy.

Draco had a twin brother named was Bahaumut. While Draco had gray, scruffy fur, purple eyes, Bahaumut had straight black fur, blue eyes, and no smile at all. Although Bahaumut stood shorter than Draco, he was stronger than him but Draco was faster.

Draco and Bahaumut left the house and walked side by side on their way to the temple for their daily lessons in the arts of magic, which they attended together. They walked in silence, since neither of them had something the other would find interesting to talk about, until Draco caught sight of one of the neighbor’s gardens.

“Bahaumut, look!” He quipped. “Kirk’s tree is growing oranges! Let’s get some.”

Bahaumut shook his head in disapproval. “If we are late for magic lessons again, mother will scold us.” But Draco ignored him and approached the tree, looking longingly at the oranges that hung just out of reach. He crouched over and pressed his hands to the ground. With a dull flash, the ground around him rose a few feet and lifted him up high enough to grab for the oranges.
Bahaumut looked on in dissatisfaction. “Draco, you know what mother told you about practicing wild magic.”

“And you know what mother said about you practicing black magic.” Draco shot back. Bahaumut admitted defeat and stayed silent.

There were four types of magic in the world: white, red, black, and wild magic. White magic is the practice of healing and protection. Spells such as curing poisons and producing barriers fell under this category. Black magic is the opposite of white magic. It utilizes mana, magical energy, to harm and destroy. Experts argue whether necromancy should be categorized under white or black magic, since it is both revival, and a dark art. Black magic is also the only magic Bahaumut excelled at even though it was strictly forbidden to be taught by the Masters. Still, Bahaumut found ways to teach himself, and soon became a prodigy in the field.

Red magic is indirect magic. Things such as alchemy, potion making, and puppeteering, or any magic that effects objects or uses objects to utilize magic is considered red magic. Wild, or as some would call it, raw magic, is the ability to use raw mana to manipulate natural elements. The art requires precise control and, if used incorrectly, could cause extreme harm to the user, thus its use is forbidden, like black magic, to be taught. It is the only art Draco is proficient in. The brothers are not very good at any of the other types of magic, but their mother forbid them to practice their arts.

Draco got off of his makeshift stand and tossed an orange to Bahaumut. In the distance, the bells at the temple began to toll. “You see, now we are late.” Bahaumut complained, and the two broke into a run.

Once at the door to the classroom, Bahaumut used his magic to blend in with the shadows and make it to his table unnoticed. Draco, not having this ability, had to get to his seat the hard way. The moment the teacher’s back was turned, he sprinted into the room and quickly sat down just as the teacher turned back around.

After magic lessons came fighting class, Draco’s favorite compared to his other classes. The only problem was that when you were not beating each other with wooden swords, you sat and listened to the teacher, and old veteran, talk about the arts of battle, which could last hours.

After classes, Draco attempted to break into the Archives, a division of the temple that contained a vast amount of spell books and scrolls. It was one of the few interests Draco and Bahaumut shared. It was the only place Bahaumut could obtain information to study black magic. For Draco, however, there were no books or scrolls for wild magic. The technique was something that could not be explained in books. However, Draco participated anyways simply for the pleasure.

On his way home, Draco tried to avoid the house, hoping to make it to his friends before his mother noticed him. He was not too luck. “Draco!” his mother called to him as he ran past the house. “Come here, little one. You have yet to finish your chores.”

“Aw, but mother! Stefen is having a wrestling match down the street!” he complained.

“Not until you have completed your chores. Now come, I am sure they will still be playing by the time you are finished.” Draco grudgingly obeyed, sulking the way to the barn, where he milked the cow and fed the hens and enjoyed a quick bout of chasing them with a twig before he ran to join the other kids.

That night, Draco went to sleep early. The day’s jaunts had left him warn out. After dinner, his mother tucked him into bed and kissed him on the cheek before turning to leave.

“Mom, where’s Bahaumut?” Draco asked sleepily, noticing that Bahaumut’s bed was empty.

“He’s out at in the forest, gathering some herbs I believe,” his mother said with a sigh. It was obvious she did not quite agree with this. “He should be back soon.”

Draco scoffed. “Why does he have to be so dull all the time? Why can’t he just act like a normal person?”

“You’re not necessarily ‘normal’ yourself. I heard about your little shenanigan in the neighbor’s garden this evening,” his mother laughed. Draco stayed silent. Shortly after the wrestling match, he and a few friends had gone into the woods and caught a group of rabbits, only to release them in one of the neighbor’s garden. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wondered why you can’t stay out of trouble like a normal person.” His mother said goodnight and left. A few moments later, Draco was asleep

- - -

“Draco, honey. Wake up.” His mother said urgently. ”Come on, we got to get out of here!”

Draco was slowly starting to wake up when his senses started to process the smell of burning wood and crackling wood. The house was on fire, and his mother had her daggers attached to her hip. Sparks for burning embers danced in the air before him like burning flies and the air was thick with smoke, but none of this did nothing to hid the dim sounds of battle that carried in from outside. Draco was now wide-awake. He jumped out of bed and his mother lead him by the hand out of the house. That’s when he realized that Bahaumut wasn’t with them.

“Mother, Where’s Bahaumut?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona said. “He hadn’t come back from the woods yet. I pray that he’s okay.” They make it out of the house and Draco sees that the whole village seems to be drowning under a sea of flames. Lesser demons were running rampant, attacking anyone they came across and throwing torches onto the roofs of houses. A lesser demon charged at the two, and Draco heard his mother whisper some words under her breath. The lesser demon was instantly tossed away by a sudden blast of magic, crashing through the crackling wall of a burning house.

She grabbed Draco’s hand and started to lead him away. They passed the demon’s body and he saw that the blast had blown a hole clear through the creature. Ribs pointed upward like raised hands of the condemned, bits of blood and gore still hanging from them. He quickly turned away.

He wondered where they were going, but it seemed that his mother had no real destination. Suddenly, she stopped and Draco almost fell over from trying to stop with her. His mother seemed transfixed on something ahead. Draco followed her gaze and found his father locked in combat with a demon. Even from their position away from the fight, Draco could feel the demon’s power.

“DAD!”

Walker’s attention shifted over from the fight to his son. It was the last thing he saw. The demon he was fighting took advantage of this distraction and slashed Walker’s back, severing his spine. Blood streamed from the wound, cascading into the air and staining the grass.

“WALKER!!!!!!” Fiona screamed. She let go of Draco’s hand and rushed forward with amazing speed, balls of magic energy growing in her hands in deadly quantities. The demon turned to face her, and casually shot a black stream of magic at her. The magic struck her in the chest, went through her, and knocked her to the ground. This image engraved itself into Draco's memory, never to be forgotten. The demon turned away from Fiona’s body, and began hurling magic at other warriors, taking no notice of Draco.

“Don’t turn your back on me!” Draco screamed and rushed forward, the sight of his parents dying replayed itself in his mind, rage blinding him. He grabbed his mother’s Dia Blades and lunged at the demon.

The demon seemed to have sensed the attack, because he quickly sidestepped and knocked Draco away with the flat of his blood red long-sword. He struck the ground hard, picked himself up, making another blind attempt to strike the demon, to cause as much pain as he could. The demon laughed, a haunting sound that sounded like the mumbles of a thousand damned souls.

“Foolish whelp.”

The demon launched a bolt of smoky silver magic at Draco. It struck him in the chest and everything went white as he collapsed.