Heir of the Lost Wish

Once upon a time, before time itself took shape, there was an infinite Void, a total and absolute nothingness. The Void, though devoid of any movement, was not without desire. In a burst of creation, a secret yearning, it concentrated its essence into a single point. And from this point sprang the Well of Wishes, an endless abyss where pure possibility rested, a place where the potential of what was and what could be intersected.

In the beginning, the Void had neither form nor consciousness. It was but a silent space, an abyss of inertia where the breath of nothingness whispered but one thing: a primordial wish. This wish, born from the depths of the Void, was both a hope and a mistake, a prayer cast into the darkness, asking for the birth of balance. But this wish, though silent, could not escape its destiny: to become the Well of Wishes, capable of giving life.

From this well sprang two opposing entities:

The Being of Light, the perfect figure of order and purity, seeking to create, to structure, to bring peace and clarity.

The Being of Shadow, the chaotic reflection of nothingness, whose will turned toward destruction, toward instinct, toward the invisible that escaped forms and laws.

These two beings, opposites yet intrinsically linked, gave birth to creatures, divided according to their natures.

The Being of Light brought forth pure beings, enlightened souls, luminous creatures who would follow order.

A page was turned, with a soft rustling of paper.

"*The humans?*" murmured a curious voice.

While the Being of Shadow gave birth to the monsters of darkness, wild and devastating beings, embodying instinct and chaos.

*Should we not call them beings of shadow instead?* it murmured, thoughtful.

But within them, a tragedy slumbered. Every light hid a shadow, every order a grain of destruction. The Well of Wishes had given birth to opposing beings, but through this duality, a question arose: could balance truly last?

Thus unfolded the beginning of everything. A dream, a prayer, a wish lost in the silence of the Void. A forgotten wish. A broken balance.

Written by: Elion Kline

A sigh escaped, and the book closed, revealing its title:

The First Wish

In a small, dilapidated library, where dust seemed to have been an eternity, a young boy with fine, delicate features stood up. His eyes, as deep and dark as ink, sparkled with a curious light, while his silver hair, slightly tousled, caught the faint rays of the sun filtering through the dusty windows. He took the book in hand, his gesture slow and respectful.

*Ah... I never tire of it. Every time I read this book, I wonder what became of that scholar, Elion Kline...* he thought, his lips almost whispering the words.

The boy, though he bore the appearance of a noble with his slender figure, seemed far removed from the opulence one might expect. His worn, brown shirt was torn at the edges, and a long, faded bag hung carelessly around his neck, like an invisible burden he carried with strange serenity.

When he saw the young boy, a warm smile spread across his lips, briefly lighting up his face marked by the years. His eyes shone, and a gleam of kindness could be seen in them.

"Lucian, still lost in that book, huh?" he said in a deep but gentle voice, marked by wisdom.

"It seems you can never get enough of that scholar's story."

Lucian replied warmly, his voice filled with a certain curiosity:

"I always wonder how Elion could have known so much about the dawn of time. It's truly fascinating."

The young boy, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, gently placed the book on the counter table, a faint smile on his lips. He paused, as if savoring the last moment in this place full of knowledge.

"I'm off, Uncle Al, see you soon."

The man, still standing near the counter, flashed a benevolent smile, a tender glint in his tired eyes. His features, marked by the weight of years and experiences, softened in the face of the evident affection he held for the adolescent.

"Take care of yourself, Lucian," he said in a voice both grave and reassuring.

Lucian nodded, filled with a strange serenity, before turning and walking toward the library's entrance. Behind him, the man watched the silhouette of the young boy disappear, a soft sigh of admiration brushing his lips.

"That child never ceases to impress me, you can be proud of him, Hector," he said in a voice tinged with sadness.

Upon exiting the library, Lucian walked slowly through the dark streets of the slums. A sharp, foul stench filled the air, permeating every corner. Children, neglected and poorly dressed, played with rusty cans they used as balls, laughing in a sort of desperate carelessness. Around them, many people lay on the ground, their emaciated bodies suffering from hunger and visible illnesses. Their hollow cheeks and dull eyes spoke of the misery that ruled this abandoned district.

Lucian walked with a tranquil step, as if it were part of his daily life, and in truth, it was. He had lived here since his birth. Now, at 15, he knew every alley, every corner of the neighborhood. Once, this slum had been a bustling, prosperous area of Avalone, where the inhabitants lived in relative comfort. But since the coronation of the new prince, the city had been neglected, and this district abandoned, giving way to degradation and misery.

Arriving before a large house that had once been splendid, Lucian observed the facade marred by the ravages of time. The stones, once smooth, were now cracked, and the windows, covered in dust, seemed lifeless, as if the house itself had ceased to breathe. He pushed open the wooden door, weathered by the years, and, in a voice tinged with melancholy, murmured:

*Dad, Mom, I'm back.*

Lucian slowly pushed the door open. The worn wood creaked under his weight, and the interior was bathed in a familiar dimness, lit only by the golden glow of the setting sun filtering through the half-open shutters.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, a fleeting vision struck him.

His father stood there, as if he had never left this place. Tall, imposing, he exuded a presence that commanded respect, even in silence. His brown hair framed a face marked by battles and years, and his piercing gaze, filled with a natural severity, met his. Beside him, a woman with long silver hair smiled tenderly. Her soft, luminous face still held the glow of infinite kindness, contrasting with the hardness of her husband.

Lucian closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, the house was empty.

It had been four years since his father had fallen, taken by a war alongside the current King. He had been a feared warrior, but above all, a man of principles. He had constantly told him, "Knowledge is the greatest of powers," and regretted deeply some things he would have done differently had he understood them sooner.

Two years later, his mother had succumbed to illness, unable to bear the absence of the man she loved. Lucian had been left alone at eleven, abandoned in a merciless world.

Lucian approached the old wooden dresser, its drawers creaking under the pressure of his fingers. He slowly opened one and pulled out an envelope, sealed with a royal crest.

Lucian paused for a moment, staring at the letter in his hands. It was his father's last gift: a letter of recommendation, sent by the King himself. Out of kindness and respect for his former war comrade, the King had allowed Lucian's family to move to Edonia, the capital of Elden, for a new life. When he turned 16 in a month, Lucian would be allowed to enter the Academy of Ether, the country's most prestigious military and magical training institution. Although his father had left him a legacy of knowledge and respect, Lucian wondered what this act of generosity from the King said about his father. What sacrifices or acts of bravery had led to such a favor?

All he knew was that his life was about to change forever.