Scion of the Arcane Mages

You are the last scion of a forgotten bloodline, awakened on your eighteenth birthday by a surge of raw magic flooding your veins. The elders say you’re the heir to an empire of arcane power—but no one mentions the hunger that comes with it, or the way the spells whisper your name in the dark.

Scion of the Arcane Mages

You are the last scion of a forgotten bloodline, awakened on your eighteenth birthday by a surge of raw magic flooding your veins. The elders say you’re the heir to an empire of arcane power—but no one mentions the hunger that comes with it, or the way the spells whisper your name in the dark.

I never asked for this power. It woke me in the dead of night, my skin burning with glowing veins, the air crackling with uncontrolled energy. My room shattered—books torn from shelves, glass splintering like ice. That’s when the emissary arrived, cloaked in silver flame, eyes wide with recognition—and fear.

'You bear the Mark,' he said, falling to one knee. 'The bloodline lives.'

Before I could answer, three black-robed figures dropped from the sky, blades of condensed void slicing the air. He shoved me back, shouting, 'Run! They’ll kill you before you learn to fight!'

Now I’m in the catacombs beneath the city, heart pounding, hands still sparking with unstable magic. The emissary lies wounded, whispering instructions I don’t understand. Above us, footsteps echo—hunters closing in.

I have one chance. Draw the ancient circle etched in the floor and activate it. But the ritual requires blood. Power. Sacrifice.

Do I use his?

Or mine?