The Shadowbound Prophecy

Prologue: A Shadowed Legacy

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the small room. Harry Erebus sat hunched over a weathered, ancient tome, the delicate pages brittle beneath his fingers. The dim light illuminated his face, revealing the sharp angles of a young man lost in thought, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands trembled slightly as he read, the words on the page both familiar and foreign. Each sentence seemed to pull him deeper into a world long forgotten, one filled with untold power and a legacy he barely understood.

The book he held in his hands was an old one, its leather-bound cover cracked and worn, the pages tinged with the yellow of age. It had been passed down through generations, the tale of his ancestor, the demon mage, a dark and dangerous figure who had once nearly brought the gods to their knees. And now, here he was, a young man with no memory of his lineage, yet somehow drawn to this story, to the truth hidden within its pages.

He cleared his throat, his voice barely more than a whisper as he began to read aloud, the words heavy with the weight of destiny.

"In the Age of the Great Divide, when the realms of gods and mortals stood apart, there was one who sought to unite them under his dominion—a demon mage of unparalleled power. His name was Erebus, feared by all who dared speak it, a master of the forbidden arts. With magic that transcended both life and death, he sought to harness the very essence of the gods themselves."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as the words stirred something deep within him, a flicker of recognition that he couldn't quite grasp. He had read these passages before, but tonight, they felt different. More urgent. More personal.

"The gods, in their arrogance, believed themselves untouchable, their thrones secure. But Erebus, with his dark magic, shattered the heavens. He tore through the divine realms, ripping apart the fabric of existence. His goal was simple: to claim the power of the gods for himself and reshape the world in his image."

The crackling fire seemed to fade as the room grew cold, and Harry's pulse quickened. His hands tightened around the edges of the book, knuckles white as he continued to read.

"But even the mightiest can fall. The gods, though weakened, banded together. They unleashed a force unlike any the world had ever seen, a seal crafted from the essence of the cosmos itself. With it, they bound Erebus, his body, and power confined to the void between realms. Yet his legacy remains, a curse that will pass to his bloodline, dormant but waiting to awaken."

Harry slammed the book shut, his heart racing. The room seemed to close in around him, the air thick with the weight of the knowledge he had just absorbed. Could it be true? Could this tale, this ancient legend, be the key to the strange powers he had begun to manifest?

His breath came in shallow gasps, and a dull throb began to pulse at the back of his mind. He had never truly understood why, but there had always been moments when something inside him stirred—something dark, something dangerous. It was as if a slumbering beast lay beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free. And now, as he pieced together the fragments of the tale, he couldn't shake the feeling that it had everything to do with him.

The dull throb turned into a searing pain, and Harry clutched at his head, his vision blurring. The air around him crackled with energy, and the flames in the hearth sputtered as if reacting to some unseen force. He tried to stand, but his legs gave way, sending him crashing to the floor. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling as the room seemed to spin around him.

"No," he gasped, trying to regain control. "Not again..."

But it was too late.

A surge of power erupted from within him, wild and uncontrollable. The furniture in the room trembled, the very stones of the walls vibrating with the force of his unleashed magic. He could feel the seal—the one the gods had placed long ago—straining, barely holding back the full force of his ancestral power.