The day after he met with Djilany, Marlon was filled with renewed motivation.

Going down to the common room of the inn, having asked Luna to stay in the room today, which didn't seem to bother her much, he had a hearty breakfast of bacon, potatoes, sausages, and a loaf of crusty bread that had nutty aromas.

He enjoyed gulping down each bite of food, his mind much lighter than it had been for many days as if his madness was now a bad memory. He knew, of course, that this was not the case, and he had taken great care to use a Spirit Care spell before leaving his room, but this lightness of spirit did him a world of good.

Tonight, he had a date with Ivy, at the Orchid, and even if this event did not inspire him much, his vision focused on his goal, he thought that a more 'classic' evening would be a good thing.

"You can afford it, kid. You've been busy since you arrived in this dimension. Give yourself a little rest, while staying alert, of course."

His plan for the day was clear. First, he would train with Djilany, absorbing every bit of knowledge Djilany could give him, then he would go see Jacob to learn about the Tournament. Finally, he would buy clothes for his everyday life.

Not that his appointment influenced him. Not in the least. Definitely not.

But it would be useful to him, no doubt. What clothes he had left dated from his time at Akranio, and all of them now had holes of varying sizes or tears. It was time to reinvest in them.

In the corner of the common room, a bard was performing, an instrument resembling a cross between a guitar and a double bass in his hands, and a circle of people stood around him clamoring for tales and songs that Marlon had of course never heard of.

Intrigued, he waved to the innkeeper who approached him, looking friendly.

"Top of the morning to you, sir. Thank you for leaving your tiger up there by the way. What can I do for you?"

"Why does everyone seem excited about this bard? Is he famous or something?"

The innkeeper's eyes widened and he glanced warily at Marlon.

"Didn't you recognize him? It's Leon! One of the greatest storytellers on this continent! He would never stop at an inn like mine normally, but the others are full, so here we are! This is a great coup for me, I must admit!"

"I want to believe you! Thank you for the information...and forgive my ignorance, I'm not from the area, but why is he so well known?"

"You must have come from quite a distance! Even the Embria Fortress knows him! If he is so well known, it is because of his tales, which are not really tales at all. They are relics of the past, how the outer villages pass on certain aspects of our society. Only large cities like Delia have archives! Don't hesitate to ask him to tell you Origins, it's one of the most famous stories in his repertoire."

"Hey innkeeper! Can you get us a plate? We're going to die of starvation around here!"

The innkeeper excused himself and walked away to serve the table that was calling out to him with loud shouts and eloquent gestures, leaving Marlon to pensively observe the bard laughing out loud at a line of women eager to hear him sing.

After all, there was still time before he had to go and meet Djilany. The sun had just risen and its rays were shyly piercing through the two windows of the inn. The young man got up and walked towards Leon, who was smiling at all his fans.

Only, when he saw Marlon coming towards him, he breathed a sigh of relief and slightly pushed away an umpteenth groupie who wanted to hug him and ask him a favor, like all the others.

"Greetings, traveler! I can see in your eyes that you're looking for entertainment, and that's my specialty! What would you like me to tell you? A silver coin and I'll take you with me into the twists and turns of our history and its incredible myths!"

The runist returned his greeting and thought for two seconds about what he would like to hear. After all, since his arrival, he had learned almost nothing about the local folklore, the legends that dotted these magical lands. That tipped the scales and he then asked:

"I'd like to hear the Origin myth, please. I've heard it's one of your most famous tales!"

As he did so, Marlon gave a silver coin to the bard, who bowed and pirouetted on himself before plucking the strings of his instrument to a haunting melody that instantly changed the mood of the inn's common room. The sound waves produced by his instrument gradually produced a mirage that hovered in the air in the middle of the room, seeming to draw the contours of a wild shoreline.

"Magic never ceases to amaze me...we are in for a great show, no wonder this guy is so famous!"

"Hear ye, hear ye, my friends! Please silence your doubts and your words at this time, for I am about to tell you the origin of Erengar, the origin of our lives and our lands! The dark history of our past, secrets buried in the tombs of our ancestors...This is the tale of Origins!"

All voices in the inn fell silent, and even the customers who were not necessarily paying attention to the crowd listened to the story of the Origins. A myth heard hundreds of times, all over the continent, but which remained intangible, fascinating, especially when it was told by Leon, the bard of a thousand stories...

Marlon felt his mind being absorbed by the mirage and began to live the tale as if he were part of it. His consciousness merged with the warm, rhythmic words of the bard and the shapes moving above his instrument and soon he was one with the story.

 

**

Ten thousand years ago, Erengar was a virgin land that neither Necros, Elves, Nessos nor humans had ever tread. The hundred-year-old creatures were at the top of the food chain and the ecosystem of the continent was simple: the stronger dominated, the weaker fed.

No city existed, no tribe resided there. The animal and monstrous kingdom were at its peak, and the wonders of nature were numerous, though unknown.

It was on these virgin lands that a man landed, so old that he could not remember his age, but with a mission that was of the utmost importance for the survival of his species. He had to find a refuge, a spark of hope.

He could fly and explore the skies in search of such a place, but his people did not have that ability, nor the desire after the destruction they had witnessed, the horrors they had experienced.

The Scourge had arrived decades before on their Mother Earth, and no one had paid much attention to it at first, blinded by their individuality, their small material comfort. By the time the upper echelons of the kingdom realized what was happening, it was too late.

It was too late to find a remedy or to stop the evil that was spreading like wildfire.

Wherever there was mana, the Scourge blossomed, grew even stronger to fight, and swallowed the souls of those in its path. Behind the Scourge was only death and suffering.

In fifty years, he had conquered their Mother Earth, turning their once lush and vibrant land into a haunted and deadly desert, forcing Magnus Force-Mana, archmage of the kingdom of Delia, to flee with a score of ships full of survivors, led by his most trusted acolytes.

Those who had survived, at least.

For months they had been sailing and Magnus had been exploring the skies in search of suitable lands to establish a new homeland. He had avoided the land of the Elves, not wanting to provoke the anger of the Elders who did not hold him in their hearts.

So when he set foot on Erengar, discovering its wild and untamed nature a feeling of joy seized his heart and made him feel alive again.

He explored the western part of this continent, finding swamps filled with dangerous beasts, not for him but for his people, so he decided to avoid this area to land. Slightly north of these swamps, the land was arid, cold and barren, but there was no visible danger. And as he moved away towards the center of the continent, he finally found what he was looking for.

A difficult area to assault, surrounded by mountains on one side, including a dormant volcano, and near a gigantic lake on the other. There would be no shortage of natural resources, and they could establish a city that would flourish over time without any difficulty.

A perfect location in every respect.

Six months later, the foundations of the city had been laid and a new hope had taken hold of the survivors. Some of them had founded an outpost on the west coast, not wanting to stray too far from the sea they had grown to love during their long journey, and Magnus's subordinates were busy traveling between the two emerging villages to make sure all was well.

Meanwhile, the archmage had continued his exploration of the Erengar lands, excited as a child.

He had reduced to nothing the creatures that could have directly threatened human existence in the vicinity of the new city that was being built in the center of the continent.

The administration had never been his cup of tea, he preferred adventure and adrenaline, especially now that he had new places to explore.

To the north, he had found a growing world tree, home to an intelligent species he named the Avians, leaving them in peace after establishing that they would not be a danger to humans in the middle of their ice desert.

To the east, great meadows stretched for dozens of kilometers, potentially becoming the breadbasket of their kingdom in the future, feeding the many cities that Magnus already imagined would flourish on Erengar.

To the west, the swamps held many secrets, but he did not linger, knowing the biome would be difficult for humans to colonize. Perhaps when they had grown up, they would be sure of their backs.

In the south, the only part he had not yet explored, he made three important discoveries.

First of all, there was a gigantic volcano, which seemed to be still active, threatening the settlement of cities in this part of the continent. Long tongues of lava sometimes rose from its roaring, smoking mouth and flowed down its black slopes, and Magnus even thought he saw a dragon swimming in the lava lake, but the heat prevented him from checking.

He would have loved to confront him, but he didn't have the opportunity.

Then, near the southern coast, not far from the volcano, the ruins of what appeared to have once been a great city rose up. Magnus, after a long search among the ruins, found nothing of interest, only hundreds of years old skeletons found among the rubble buried under the ashes, and decided to continue his exploration.

The last one was what attracted his interest the most. From the sky, he saw a concentric formation on a peninsula in the southern part of the continent, loaded with latent magic, and he decided to take a look.

Hundreds of runes, each more complex than the last, were bound around a mound of earth where nothing grew, and even he, who had been versed in the arts of magic for many centuries, did not understand the meaning or the origins of this magic. Yet he carried with him the ancestral knowledge of his country, mastering the runes as no one had before. His Archmage class allowed him to do what no one else could, opening up new avenues of thought more often than not.

It should be noted that Magnus had always been curious, and that this had gotten him into trouble many times over the centuries.

Unable to resist his inner nature, he spent several months studying the magical formation, returning from time to time to check on the progress of the new city's construction.

Then one day, frustrated with not advancing his understanding, he decided to infuse some mana into the runic circle, convinced that no harm would come of it, a lifelong optimist.

Immediately, an earthquake tested the ground beneath his feet and the mound surrounded by the magic circle rose up into the sky as if growing under the influence of magic.

What Magnus saw made him blanch, and concern overtook curiosity.

A portal had just appeared on the newly created protuberance of earth and rock, like those he had once created in his native land, but seems far more powerful, far darker, waves of dark magic pulsing from his heart.

Immediately, he concentrated all the magic he could muster and tried to counteract what he had just unleashed, to no effect. He spent several days casting more and more powerful spells on the portal, but all of them had no effect.

But his concern did not wane, for he sensed threatening magic on the other side of that portal. Not the same as the Scourge, fortunately, but it seemed dangerous, oppressive. And his doubts were confirmed after a few days. A creature emerged from the waves of magic that made up the passageway, and from this thing emanated death magic, the likes of which he had never seen.

He tried to communicate with it, but only hunger and death seemed to rule the strange being, the plants and insects at his feet withering as their life energy seemed to be absorbed. Magnus realized that he had made a grave mistake, and he had to do what he could to prevent them from reaching his people.

He pulverized the creature with a tongue of flame that was more than effective, leaving only ashes behind. He sighed with relief that these things were not immortal or immune to magic, and he began to prepare a plan of action to protect his people.

For several months he stood in front of the portal, trying out various strategies, exterminating the creatures that sporadically emerged from it. But he knew he couldn't always be there, exterminating them, and no survivor except perhaps his acolytes had the strength to get rid of them as easily as he did. He needed something lasting.

So he decided to sacrifice the south, heading for the pass that separated that part of the continent from the other. For two years, he built the largest magical formation he had ever created, feeding the runes with his magic, his being, every day, until finally everything was ready.

This period was full of conflict, and he was roundly criticized for his inquisitive actions that had triggered the coming of these creatures. A faction made up of some of his best members decided to split from Magnus and set out with thousands of people to the Silver Mountains to create their ideal.

Dejected and desolate, Magnus finally activated his work, the one hundred and fifty-kilometer wide Embria Pass shaking with a power that rose to a crescendo and was felt all the way to the still under construction city of refugees. The ground opened up, revealing walls as black as the night that rose several dozen meters into the sky.

On these walls stood gargoyles as black as ebony whose eyes began to glow white before they began to move, standing up and scanning the horizon with their magical eyes.

That was the day the Embria Fortress was born. It would be the first barrier against the Necros, the name Magnus had decided to give to the undead creatures emerging from the portal. These gargoyles had the power to burn Necros as effectively as he did, and it had cost him much, much more than a mana gauge. He had poured a part of his soul into it, forever tying his being to the fortress' existence.

When he returned to the portal, he saw that many Necros had come out and had even begun to set up camp, showing that they were intelligent.

Magnus tried to make contact this time and succeeded.

The queen of the Necros showed herself to him as he threatened to eradicate the camp and all the beings in it. Beautiful beyond what should have been possible, she invited him to talk and they sat together for days around a table made of bones and cartilage.

Her name could not be pronounced in human language, so he decided to call her Necrosia. They came to an agreement. The south was theirs, but they would never seek to expand beyond that border, with Magnus warning her not to go near the pass or she would die in agony. He would personally see to it that their agreement was respected.

A more advanced understanding with these people would not be possible. They literally fed on life, and Magnus could only watch them, for he suspected that Necrosia was a lesser evil compared to what might be on the other side of the portal.

Wanting to secure his people, Magnus created a deadly mist in the plains south of the city, beyond the Forest of a Thousand Miles, that would eat away at anything organic that ventured there, so the Necros could not bypass the fortress of Embria by sea. The Mists of Magnus were born. He also warned his people, not wanting to have any deaths on his conscience.

The survivors decided to name the newly erected city Delia, after their original homeland, and Magnus' remaining acolytes founded an order of magical knights, the Order of the Draconic Eye, which was supposed to protect the people and make sure that the Necros never crossed the border.

Magnus, having seen his mistake put to rest, decided it was time to explore again. Fifty years had passed since the discovery of the Necros, and nothing had happened. He set out to discover new lands, leaving the management of the kingdom to his lifelong friends and associates.

Over the years, he returned several times, reporting incredible discoveries. Humans met with the Dwarf and Nessos peoples, establishing an important commercial and political network with each of these races.

Two more continents were discovered untouched by civilization, and a few ships of the now flourishing humanity were sent to colonize these new lands.

A century later, Magnus looked back on his work and felt fulfilled. He had succeeded in saving his people, who were now stronger than ever, even if much knowledge had been lost along the way. The kingdom had become an Empire and all the humans he knew were now dead, swept away by time.

Only he remained, cursed by his knowledge that would not let him leave this existence that had become too long. So he decided to return to his homeland, to check if the Scourge was still present. He warned the Emperor, as well as the leaders of the Order of the Draconic Eye, and despite the barrage of protests he encountered, he stuck to his decision.

He left, flying back to where he had come from, one hundred and fifty years before.

For years they waited for his return, but nothing happened. No sign, no message came to them.

The Necros, seeing that the only threat that could destroy them had disappeared, decided to break their unspoken pact with Magnus and attacked the fortress of Embria, three years after his disappearance.

The gargoyles, for the first time in a hundred years, attacked and decimated the undead troops with gigantic balls of purple flame that consumed the flesh and left only ashes and desolation.

The imperial army joined the gargoyles, and the Fortress became a place of growth for new recruits. The war did not stop, and every year Necros troops were sent against the walls whose magic did not weaken. Magnus' finest work, but also his most indecipherable.

Negotiations were attempted, truces were signed, but always the conflict was rekindled at one time or another.

**

"...and ten thousand years later, the Empire is still fighting the Necros, and the Embria Fortress is still holding out against the winds and corpses, burning the attackers to our delight."

Leon finished his tale in admiring silence, and the mirage that had told the whole story dissipated as the final notes rang out on his musical instrument.

Marlon blinked, feeling as if he had woken up from a dream, having felt all the excitement and emotions that Leon's thousand-year-old story conveyed, each landscape still passing before his eyes shining with emotion.

Everyone in the room applauded, and Marlon did the same, deeply amazed by what he had just learned. So this is how civilization was born on Erengar?

He sincerely thanked the bard and couldn't help but ask him:

"Are you sure this story is true?"

Leon burst out laughing and shook his head at Marlon's naivety.

"How can you be sure that a ten thousand-year-old tale is true? No, I can't be sure. I've found records on the Dream Island that tell it that way, but who's to say it's true? No one wants to go check with the Necros, not with the Fortress under siege twice a year, and that's an area I'd rather avoid as long as possible."

"And this Fortress still stands? Are real gargoyles still attacking the Necros?"

Marlon felt like a child who had just been told about the existence of Santa Claus. Only creepier, and without the sleigh.

Leon's eyes narrowed at the runist's question and he lowered his voice in response, not wanting to be heard by anyone but Marlon.

"You're not from here, so I'll tell you. The Fortress is not nearly as powerful as it is in the stories. Many gargoyles have been destroyed by time, and the loss of life is mounting year by year. It will still stand...fifty, sixty years, perhaps? But nothing is immortal, adventurer, except good stories!"

Shaking his head to end his speech, he put on his smiling mask and asked the innkeeper for a beer, which Marlon offered him willingly.

His head filled with thoughts of the past, he got up and headed for the exit of the inn, leaving to see Djilany who was to teach him his rune skills.

"This guy, Magnus, must have been pretty powerful to pull this off. And no one knows what happened to him...I wonder what this Scourge is that the tale was about..."

It is thus very pensive that Loki and Marlon left the inn. One day, perhaps, they would have answers. But it wasn't for now. For the time being, he had to get better before another problem fell on him.