The Story of Formaré

Prologue

Ancient Grove, Unknown

Duchess of Hanow, Siri Willmall, stumbled through the arched beech trees, barefoot as the ritual demanded. The markings on the ground that protected the ancient tome glowed with a sheen of violet, and her blood was smeared across them. She fell onto the trampled earth.

Tonight, the celestial bodies aligned, and those few who understood this part of her life were either dead or missing. Her presence was felt by the spirits of ancient pasts. The Sanctum, ever so green and never cold, remained unchanged, no matter the weather or the season. The waterfall swirled its broad wisdom through this hidden place. Beech and oak surrounded this protected area, and she was dying. This was not how it was supposed to end.

She reached for her abdomen, where the dark-blade had pierced her. She could hardly move. Her purple blood smeared her hands as it slowly seeped out of her.

Earlier that night, the enemy had come unnoticed, silent as a shadow; they crept into her chambers.

The Duchess lay for a moment, gasping for air. Her heart raced, and she turned her head upward. It was right there—the only thing that could save her. She needed the tome; she needed to get to the tome. Her vision blurred, and a tang of iron filled her mouth as she spat out the blood.

In the secret chambers across Formaré, and in this oasis, her Pathwalkers, had forge the destiny of Formaré. Now, she was alone. Her sisters had been hunted by this unknown enemy, an enemy of the shadows. One by one, they had disappeared without leaving a single trace. Tonight, she had just managed to escape, her life hanging by a thread. She needed rest— "No no, my dear— don't fall asleep" a familiar voice whispered. She opened her eyes and saw her grand-mother in her shiny black and golden cloak. "You need to complete your journey, my dear."

Ancient wisdom had been imbued into her, the aching scars on her shoulder, a constant reminder. Knowledge passed down through generations of Pathwalkers. "Vez fy qev sa. Qissaz fy enn cane" The ancient words spoken in the common tongue, read. "When you can see. You will know." The first time she had truly opened her eyes, it had been overwhelming, cascading sensations of visions, tactile and otherworldly phenomena. Now, she knew.

With sheer determination, she dragged herself forward, inch by inch, toward the natural, podium. Every movement sent a surge of pain through her body, but she refuses to stop. Her knees scraping against the rough ground as she used her remaining strength to pull herself up, her fingers trembling as they grip the edge of the platform.

She opened the ancient tome that protected this place, swaying back and forth, gazing at the pages which had guided all Pathwalkers through untold millennia.

She stood there wide-eyed and unbelieving, overwhelmed by what she saw. The heat emanating from the book felt strange and unfamiliar. She needed to concoct a potion, but couldn't. She needed to know the right amounts, but she couldn't. The formulas swirled around like a tornado of chaos.

As she turned the page it stung her, a burning sensation shot through her whole body. A light surged through her hand and into her body. She felt revitalized. She knew what had to be done, and it would hurt more than anything. Quickly she undressed, naked as the day she was born.

The tome started to glow menacingly red, a sea of hotness. The sizzling sensation as she pressed her abdomen against the ancient podium. Her roar of pain pierced the veil surrounding the sanctuary.

Trembling, flickering images of recent dreams danced in her thoughts. A vulnerable rawness surrounded her. She saw—visions of distant stars. She felt the passage of countless eons coursing through her being. A vast sea of swirling memories unfolded before her. She fell to the ground.

She crawled to the edge of the the podium and sat up. Her breathing hoarse. Yet she was alive. The poison was still in her body, mostly contained in the cauterized wound. She needed to concoct a potion.

***

The tome had cooled down. Her hands moved over the tome, a formula appeared. Tears fell down her face. She would live. As she drank the potion, moments later she felt revitalized. Then the book started acting up again. No, no.

Her gaze examined, the written pages of the brown, darkened book that lay in front of her when a name caught her attention—a name passed down through generations of her ancestors. It read "Einsmoonir," meaning "Only Moon." It appeared and then disappeared.

"When the Only Moon shone its light, the Change would be complete." In her beloved world of Formaré, two moons always appeared in the sky. In recorded history, non of her Pathwalkers had experienced an "Only Moon."

She looked up at the sky and saw the Blood Moon and the Dark Violet Moon shining their light down on them. On a cloudless night like this, there was always a magenta hue to it, playing its dark tunes on the grass and the waterfall in the hidden grove. She walked with unsteady feet back to her chambers.

***

Years later, nothing had happened. Maybe the superstition was just a myth altered over the course of millennia? Her attacker had not been found. The Duchess looked out over the horizon hoping for another good year. Her King, and also her brother-in-law had changed this world for the better. Banned old rotten practices. He had made peace a long sought peace. Her worry about the Change had settled with every year that pasted. Tonight the celestial bodies would be strong.

From where she stood, at Castle Lux she had one of the most breathtaking views the castle could offer. Her tower was her sanctuary, here the winds whispered their soothing songs. When she required solace, she would retire to her balcony and just sit their for a moment, pondering life's many mysteries. Over in the east she saw dark purple clouds rolling in. She stood up and walked back inside her chambers.

"Mother." Luna's smile always brightened her day.

"Yes, dear? How did you get up here? Where is The Governess?"

Rushing through the door, Governess Cecil barged in. "There you are. I'm so sorry my Lady." She bowed.

"Are you coming to read for us?" Asked Luna.

"Of course Dear. Einser needs to find his princess."

"Princess?" Luna's voice shrieked. "I want to be a princess!"

"Yes, dear. Maybe one day you will be." Mother Siri said.

"She can't be here," Duchess Siri almost whispered to Cecil, who bowed with a flushed face. The Governess walked out carrying Luna. The storm would not be gentle tonight.

Moments later, unexpectedly, a voice emerged from the shadows—chilling and vile. "Thank you for letting me in, Pathwalker. Stay there." The Duchess froze. Out of the shadow crept a figure, cold as the night, with dark purple skin beneath its black, leathery armor, forearms marked by intensely visible veins, and that dark dagger, again. A surge of pain shot through her abdomen. How?

"You have no power here," she replied, bewildered. How did it find her here? Her balance had been perfectly maintained.

A guttural laugh echoed. "You know how this goes. Your kind is weak, Pathwalker." It nearly spat the words. "Your lies do not suit you. You have no idea what you possess. Charlatans, you and your cult of women." Its voice drew power from the shadows. What does he mean?

It lunged and she darted, in this realm she was stronger than he knew. It shrieked of pain as her touch pierced it. Circling the room. It lunged again and her shields blocked the blow.

On the stormiest night in a century, ice cold was the blade that pierced her heart. She had failed them all.