Threads of Fate

Eldric Marrow: Year 900

The sound of hammer striking iron rang out in the early dawn, a rhythm that matched the steady pulse of Eldric Marrow's heart. The forge was alive with heat and light as he worked, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He had spent his life shaping metal, coaxing strength from raw ore, building a future one horseshoe, one blade, one tool at a time. It wasn't much, but it was honest work, and that was enough for him.

Eldric wiped his brow, gazing out at the village of Highbrook as it slowly stirred awake. The fields stretched out in shades of green, morning mist rising off the soil. His neighbors went about their routines, greeting each other with nods and smiles. To them, he was the reliable blacksmith—steady, unchanging, dependable as the rising sun.

"Eldric!" called out Marta, his neighbor, clutching a small bundle of vegetables. "Will you be at the festival tomorrow?"

He paused, turning to face her, a smile creeping onto his face. "Wouldn't miss it," he replied, the warmth in his voice reflecting the quiet joy he found in these simple moments. "Got to make sure the children don't burn themselves with the sparklers."

Marta chuckled, waving as she moved on, leaving Eldric to return to his forge. He watched her go, a sense of peace settling over him. This was his life—a life built on routine, community, and small, meaningful connections.

He was too lost in his work to notice the subtle shift in the air. The birdsong that had filled the morning fell silent, replaced by an unnatural stillness that crept across the village like a predator in the grass. It wasn't until he heard the first scream that his head snapped up, his hand instinctively tightening around the hammer.

From the edge of the village, shapes emerged—figures in dark cloaks, their faces obscured, moving with grim purpose. Mana Slavers. Eldric's stomach twisted into a knot as he dropped the hammer and rushed to the door, his eyes scanning for danger. They came swiftly, moving from house to house, dragging out villagers with brutal efficiency. Chains rattled in their hands, glowing with runes designed to bind and drain.

"Run! Get to the woods!" Eldric shouted, his voice raw with panic. He grabbed a poker from the forge, his only weapon, and stumbled into the street. Around him, chaos erupted as villagers scattered, pursued by the slavers' hounds. He saw Marta, cornered by two of them, their eyes cold as they approached her.

Without thinking, Eldric charged forward, swinging the poker wildly. One of the slavers turned, raising a hand that crackled with dark energy. Eldric felt a surge of heat as the spell collided with his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Pain shot through his body, and the world around him blurred.

"No..." he gasped, struggling to rise, only to feel a boot slam into his back, pinning him to the earth.

The slaver loomed over him, his face hidden behind a mask. "You'll do nicely," he hissed, binding Eldric's wrists with a chain etched in glowing runes. The metal bit into his skin, cold and humming with a power that made his stomach churn. His strength drained, leaving him weak, powerless.

They dragged him through the village, past the familiar sights of his life—the market stall where he traded his wares, the inn where he shared laughs with friends, now nothing but fragments of a shattered reality.

Eldric struggled, twisting against the chains, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Let... me... go!" he cried, but his voice was swallowed by the cold, indifferent eyes of his captors.

The slavers marched them to the edge of the village, where a line of wagons awaited. Eldric was thrown into one of them, landing hard on the wooden floor. Around him, he saw the faces of his fellow villagers—Marta among them, eyes wide with terror. The wagon jerked into motion, carrying them away from everything they knew.