PROLOGUE

The encroaching veils of darkness swathed the solitary dwelling, akin to a predatory force slowly tightening its grip. Within this shadowed realm, a young man wrestled with the clutches of a recurring nightmare, his hands tightly gripping the mattress beneath as beads of cold sweat traced down his forehead.

Long, raven hair splayed across the pillow, with a few strands adhering to his face from the persistent perspiration. His ashen skin, illuminated by the moon's penetrating glow through the window, would almost resemble that of a mannequin, were it not for the subtle movements that betrayed his living form.

****

The nightmare, an unwelcome constant, transported the young man to a kingdom adorned in white bricks—a bustling market beneath the azure morning sky and the vigilant gaze of three suns. Merchants, varying in size and species, clamored to vend their wares. The air was saturated with the buttery aroma of freshly baked bread and honeyed sweets. A boisterous crowd congregated around a dwarf-operated barbecue, where succulent meat and vegetables sizzled, tempting patience with their enticing fragrance.

Amidst this lively scene, oblivious to the market's delights and the echoes of magical duels in the distance, a small child played at the center of the busiest street.

The tranquility of the evening shattered when a black, bejeweled carriage breached the market's perimeter. Drawn by six four-eyed horses, as black as the carriage they pulled, their frothing mouths snapped menacingly at that unfortunate enough to cross their path.

The horses bore a maddened gleam in their red eyes, an unsettling intensity that bespoke their hunger for blood. Panic gripped the onlookers at the outskirts, who raced to relay the impending danger to the main market. Regrettably, the warning arrived too late for the populace, and the child, engrossed in his play, remained oblivious.

The charging horses, with mouths agape and jaws snapping, careened into the heart of the market. People scrambled to evade their path, but the child continued to inhabit his own world, unaware of the imminent peril.

As the black carriage raced into view on the horizon at breakneck speed, the child, chasing his ball, stumbled and fell. The horses, undeterred in their intent to trample all in their path, surged forward. The lead horse, fixated on the fallen child, strained to intensify the impending calamity.

The child's face contorted in realization and fear, a moment too late. The foremost horse, eyes gleaming with a predatory light, poised to seize the child's tender flesh. Frozen in terror, the child awaited the fatal strike.

Yet, just as the first horse lunged in for the kill, the reins were abruptly pulled, bringing the charging horses to a halt a mere inch away from the child.

Suddenly, the carriage door swung open, revealing a massive double-ended lance. A thick, muscular purple hand firmly gripped the black staff, and both blades boasted a streak of fiery red, resembling molten lava. The small skull pommel on the hilt, with its sickly green hue and subtly glowing gems for eyes, added an eerie touch, evoking the impression that the skulls were alive and hungry for souls.

The entire marketplace froze at the sight. Following the lance's emergence, a hoofed leg descended from the carriage. Something seemed amiss, for any creature belonging to such a leg should have been too massive to fit in the small carriage. Yet, in the magical world, impossibilities were routine.

Gradually unveiling himself, the creature stood tall at 10 feet, a bizarre combination of a centaur and something else. His colossal torso rested on four muscular legs covered in flawless chainmail armor. The bare torso, adorned only by a massive white beard and a gem-studded necklace, bore countless scars.

His deep violet complexion extended from his legs to his long beard, while his mouth showcased canines protruding beyond his lips, giving him a permanent beastly appearance. A crown made of finger bones rested atop his head, and in his single hand, he held the massive lance like a child with a toy sword. His massive fingers curled around the hilt, pulsating with large bulging veins.

What struck the onlookers more than his colossal size, the intimidating lance, or the maddening gleam in his eyes, was his smile. Standing next to him, even a vampire in a bloodlust frenzy would seem friendlier. As his gaze swept over the marketplace, one by one, the entire crowd knelt—whether in reverence for the king or in fear of the beast, no one could discern.

The centaur's hooves echoed loudly as he approached the kid, who lay quietly sobbing, slowly dragging his body away from the approaching beast. In one massive leap, the centaur closed the distance, grabbing the kid's arm. The bare-chested child, human in body but with the head of an anteater, displayed pure terror.

Speaking in a soft voice, the centaur reassured, “Don’t be afraid, my child. Here, let me help you up.” The centaur offered his hand, gently lifting the kid until he stood on trembling legs.

Centaur: “There, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The centaur remarked, to which the child replied

Child: “No sire.”

Acknowledging that the child knew him while he remained oblivious to the child's identity, the centaur inquired about his name. The child introduced himself as Arion. As Arion's mother rushed forward, dressed in a long yellow floral evening dress, her brown hair neatly tied, a flick falling just beneath her purple eyes, she pleaded for forgiveness.

Halting the woman's plea with a raised hand, the centaur turned back to Arion with admiration for the name. Then, in a whimsical gesture, he asked if Arion had ever ridden a centaur.

Arion shook his head, eyes widening with excitement. The centaur proposed giving him a horseback ride, and Arion eagerly agreed.

With a friendly smile, the centaur lifted Arion with ease. The onlookers, surprised by the unfolding events, watched as Arion beamed at the centaur, shouting in glee. However, in a shocking turn of events, the centaur's right hand moved swiftly, impaling young Arion on the twin-bladed lance.

Arion's shrieks of agony pierced the air, and his mother fell to her knees in tears. The centaur, maintaining the same smile, let Arion's blood trickle down his face before raising the lifeless body over his head. With a small energy blast, Arion's remains turned to ash, leaving nothing to bury.

The marketplace, gripped by stunned silence, witnessed the horror unfold. Arion's cries fell on deaf ears, as no one dared defy the centaur or help the fallen child. The centaur, undeterred by the silent sobbing of the now childless mother, faced the audience with an evil-tinged smile.

Ignoring the whimpering woman, the centaur spread his arms wide and demanded, “WORSHIP ME!” In a macabre response, the marketplace erupted into chants, thousands of voices echoing in unison: “All hail King Ponytus! All Hail King Ponytus!”

Ponytus reveled in the adulation, his blood-stained smile revealing the dark depths of his malevolence.

With a sudden, agonized cry, young Rafael was jolted awake.

Rafael: “Not this dream again!"

*****

Clutching the edges of his bed, Rafael pulled himself into a sitting position. The moonlight spilled into his room through the window, casting an otherworldly glow that seemed to intensify the air of foreboding.

Tonight, on the full moon, the celestial body fought through the thick cloud cover as if it sought to assure Rafael that even in the darkest depths of the night, there existed a glimmer of hope, a beacon of light.

Feeling a thirst that only waking from a nightmare could induce, Rafael poured himself a glass of water. The audible gulp cut through the silence that clung to his room. As he turned to return to his bed, a shadow sliced across his window.

Startled, Rafael shifted his gaze toward the window. A looming silhouette, draped in mystery, obstructed the moonlight. In the profound darkness, a pair of eyes gleamed with an unmistakable power.

Straining his eyes to discern the details in the dimness beyond his window, Rafael made out the face of an elderly man. Time had etched deep, crisscrossed wrinkles on his face, and a meticulously groomed grey beard cascaded down to his chest.

However, it was the eyes that told a different story—pools of wisdom, knowledge, and experiences spanning centuries. They emitted a white brilliance, signifying an overwhelming power. With one hand holding the window ajar, the other gripping a staff, the old man spoke in a raspy voice characteristic of age.

Mysterious voice: “There is no time at all, Rafael. There’s no time at all."

Suddenly, a loud, eerie screech tore through the night sky, and Rafael woke up with a sharp jolt.

Taking in his surroundings, Rafael's room seemed mundane. No mysterious figure at the window, just the familiar poster of American Dragon adorning his wardrobe's white background. His black T-shirt, featuring a large skull, hung in a corner. The room's door stood slightly ajar, a small rack holding games and movies with a penchant for the supernatural. Moonlight tiptoed into the room, engaged in a silent battle with the encompassing darkness.

Rafael pinched himself hard.

Rafael: “Ow! Thank God I am finally awake this time."

*****

As Rafael caught his breath, he couldn't shake off the residual unease that lingered in the room, as if the remnants of the nightmare clung to the air like a sinister perfume.

For the third time that week, Rafael found himself entangled in the same haunting dream. The recurring nightmare had begun a couple of months earlier, coinciding with his 18th birthday—the symbolic entry into adulthood. On that fateful night, as he gazed at the night sky from his window, a thunderous boom disrupted the stillness.

Rafael scanned the cloudless sky, finding no source for the mysterious sound. That night marked the genesis of a dream that would relentlessly replay in his sleep—a grotesque murder, a megalomaniacal king, and a cryptic warning from an old man.

Rafael: "Who are they, damn it? What do these dreams mean? Do they hold any significance, or am I finally going crazy?"

Anxiety propelled Rafael into a seated position, back pressed against the wall. He dreaded sleep, fearing the recurrence of the unsettling dream, yet exhaustion proved a more potent force. Eventually, Rafael succumbed to the embrace of slumber while still perched upright.

The following day, as Rafael awaited the college bus amidst brisk traffic, he noticed a fruit vendor nearby, enticing passersby. Across the road, a violet-colored door beckoned entrance to "Gorion’s Magic: Come and learn the unbeatable art." The aroma of incense wafted from the shop, and against his better judgment, Rafael felt an irresistible pull towards it.

Struggling against this magnetic force, Rafael's internal conflict played out. His mind screamed to look away, to ignore the allure, fearing that breaking the spell would make the shop vanish forever. Yet, something in the shadows behind the curtain compelled him. He envisioned an old man waiting behind the door, ready to unveil answers to his haunting dreams.

Despite the illogical urge, Rafael contemplated stepping into oncoming traffic to reach a shop that might not yield the answers he sought. A sudden intervention spared him from such recklessness.

A hand gripped Rafael's shoulder, pulling him back to safety.

Max: "You don't only look like a zombie now; you've started zoning out like one as well? Do you have a death wish or something?"

Rafael turned to see his best friend, Max, a cheerful blonde who had interrupted his peculiar trance.

Rafael: "Hey Blondie! I don't look like a zombie, and I wasn't zoning out. I just wanted to see what's in that psychic shop."

Max: "Which psychic shop are you talking about?"

Rafael: "That one."

Rafael pointed towards the direction of Gorion’s Magic. However, as his eyes followed his finger, the shop seemed to have vanished.

Max, attempting to locate the nonexistent shop, shook his head in disbelief.

Max: “A little too early for your pranks now, isn't it?"

Rafael let out a nervous laugh as the college bus pulled up. Just as he boarded, the raspy voice of the old man echoed in his mind, this time, wide awake.

Mysterious voice: “People are in danger, Rafael, and you are needed."