Cursed By Thorns

Prologue

The forest was alive with the whispers of ancient magic.

Beneath a sky heavy with storm clouds, the trees loomed tall and silent, their twisted branches forming a dark canopy that blotted out the light. The air was thick with the scent of rain, damp earth, and something older—something darker that lingered in the shadows between the trees. A faint mist clung to the ground, swirling around the gnarled roots and moss-covered stones, as though the very earth itself was holding its breath, waiting.

At the center of this silent wood stood an ancient stone circle, forgotten by all but the oldest of the fae. The standing stones, weathered by time and covered in dark, spiraling runes, seemed to pulse with a faint, eerie light. This was a place of power, a place where the veil between the worlds was thin, where the magic of the fae was strongest. And it was here that the darkness had taken root.

A figure moved among the stones, shrouded in a cloak as black as the night. His presence was commanding, his steps deliberate, each one echoing with the weight of destiny. This was no ordinary fae, but one who had delved deep into the forbidden arts, who had sought out the ancient, terrible knowledge that had been hidden away for millennia. This was Elric Thorn, a name that would soon be whispered in fear throughout the realm.

Thorn reached the center of the circle and paused, his eyes, glowing with a cold, dark fire, taking in the scene before him. He could feel the power of the place thrumming beneath his feet, a raw, untamed force that resonated with his own dark magic. It called to him, beckoning him to complete the ritual, to unlock the secrets that had been buried for so long.

Slowly, Thorn extended a hand, and from the folds of his cloak, he produced a small, intricately carved box. The box was ancient, made from a wood so dark it seemed to absorb the light, its surface covered in more of the same strange, spiraling runes that adorned the stones around him. With a slow, deliberate motion, he opened the box, revealing a small, dark crystal—the keystone.

The keystone was unlike anything found in the mortal or fae realms. It was a shard of pure, concentrated darkness, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. Within it, shadows seemed to writhe and twist, as though the crystal contained the very essence of the void. It was a relic of the old world, a time before the fae had divided into the courts of light and dark, a time when magic had been raw and untamed, and the world had been wild and dangerous.

Thorn’s lips curled into a cold smile as he gazed at the keystone. This was the key to his plan, the artifact that would allow him to transcend the petty squabbles of the courts and become something more—something far greater than any fae had ever been. With this power, he would reshape the world, bend it to his will, and create a new order, one where he reigned supreme.

But to unlock the keystone’s full potential, he needed to complete the ritual, a ritual that required a place of power such as this, where the barrier between the realms was weakest. It was a dangerous and forbidden magic, one that could rip the very fabric of reality apart if not controlled. But Thorn was confident in his abilities, confident that he could wield the power without succumbing to its dangers.

He began the ritual, chanting in the ancient tongue of the fae, his voice low and resonant, the words vibrating with power. The standing stones around him began to glow more brightly, their runes pulsing in time with his incantation. The air grew colder, the mist swirling faster, as though drawn to the dark energy Thorn was summoning.

As the ritual progressed, the keystone began to react, its surface glowing with an unnatural light. The shadows within it seemed to come alive, swirling faster and faster, growing in intensity as Thorn chanted the final words. The power in the air was palpable now, a force so strong it made the very ground tremble.

But something was wrong.

Thorn’s chant faltered for just a moment, but it was enough. The keystone’s light flared, blinding in its intensity, and a shockwave of dark energy erupted from it, blasting through the stone circle. Thorn was thrown back, his cloak billowing out behind him as he hit the ground hard. The force of the explosion shattered the ancient stones, sending shards of rock flying in all directions.

When the dust settled, the forest was silent once more. The standing stones were nothing more than rubble, their power spent, and at the center of the circle, where the keystone had been, there was now only a charred, blackened crater.

Thorn slowly pushed himself to his feet, his body aching from the impact. His cold, calculating mind quickly assessed the situation. The ritual had failed, but the keystone was still intact—he could sense its dark presence, buried beneath the rubble. However, something had been unleashed, something wild and uncontrollable, a force that even he had not anticipated.

The ground beneath his feet began to tremble once more, and Thorn realized with a sinking feeling that he had awakened something far older, far darker than even the keystone. From the shadows of the forest, shapes began to emerge—twisted, nightmarish creatures that had not walked the earth in millennia. They were drawn to the dark power of the keystone, their eyes glowing with hunger.

Thorn’s mind raced. He was powerful, yes, but he was not a fool. He knew that he could not face these creatures and hope to survive—not without the keystone fully under his control. But he would return. He would gather his strength, perfect his ritual, and when the time was right, he would claim the keystone’s power and finish what he had started.

With a final, lingering glance at the dark crater, Thorn turned and vanished into the shadows, his form blending seamlessly with the darkness of the forest. The twisted creatures prowled the remains of the stone circle, their presence a dark omen of what was to come.

In the distance, the first rumble of thunder echoed through the trees, and the storm that had been brewing finally broke, rain pouring down in sheets. The forest drank in the water, but the darkness that had been awakened here could not be so easily washed away. It would spread, slowly, insidiously, until it consumed everything in its path.

And so, the seed of a great darkness was sown, one that would soon spread across the realms, bringing with it an era of chaos and terror. But in the depths of that darkness, a light would emerge—a light that would shine brightly, even in the face of the deepest shadows.

For as Thorn retreated into the night, the keystone lay buried, waiting for the one who could truly unlock its power. The one who would stand against the darkness, who would fight to save the realms from the threat that Thorn had unleashed.

And that was where her story would begin.