The Sword of Glory (Book 1)

Prologue

"I'm hopeless..."

A man of tall figure stood up and slammed his hands on his small wooden desk that was cramped in between piles and piles of books.

"No... no, I mustn't give up hope. There's still a chance..."

He adjusted his cloak and lit a small candle. Frantically, he pulled out a stack of his books straight out of the pile nearest to him and shakily flipped through many pages, desperately trying to find an easy solution to his horrible crisis.

"Please... please... help me find the answer to my prayers..."

There were probably five open books on his desk, each struggling to take up good space as the desk was so incredibly small.

As he flipped through pages filled with incantations and instructions on sorcery, he grew more impatient. He did not know what to do to honor his now-dead family and immortalize them forever.

Then an idea popped in his head.

"Ancestors, I look to you now. All your once-living descendants except I were burned at the stake and I am now the only practitioner of sorcery in perhaps the whole of Brayveth... may the art of sorcery continue to live on, even as I cast my final spell. The world will rejoice at this historical event as the sorcerers they persecuted will be banished from the earth once and for all. Grant me luck in hopes of this spell succeeding and I will no longer live as a sorcerer but as a normal human until the day I die."

He clasped his hands tightly in desperate prayer. He turned around and took his family's most precious relics. He brought possessions that each belonged to his father, mother, grandfather, and sister.

And as he gathered these treasures, he decided to take one of his first-ever sorcery books that were passed down to him and add it to the roster. He wanted to honor his sorcery days too and also honor the art of sorcery as a whole.

"This spell may be deemed 'too ambitious' for you, ancestors. However, rest assured, I will honor all of you through this. You will live forever, my dear family."

He began to arrange these objects in a circle and he placed himself in the center of it.

With a few soft, unrecognizable chants, he pointed a finger upward and strings of light coming from the sky started to attach themselves to his pointed finger. With his other hand, he curled his fingers and seemed to draw some energy out of the strings of light.

Then, with incredible concentration, he directed these strings of light to each individual relic and along with them came the pieces of energy he drew out of the strings. As this all occurred, the relics started vibrating violently, gravely worrying the sorcerer.

Desperately he chanted another soft incantation, which detached the strings of light off his finger and each went into an individual relic. As each string disappeared, its respective piece of energy went with it.

Silence.

Then he sighed in incredible relief.

A strange rumbling started. The man fell down in shock. The ground shook unusually hard. He didn't know what to do so he stayed on the ground as his heart started to pound and his stomach grew nauseous.

And he knew no more.

The relics seemingly disappeared from that room without a trace.