In 1212, Aris—now twelve—ventured back into Blaviken to trade for supplies he couldn't grow or conjure. He kept his hood low, moving through the market like a shadow. The atmosphere in the town had changed; it was thick with a new kind of fear, sharper and more focused than the usual dread of monsters.
In the center of the square, a group of men in rich, heavy robes stood atop a wagon. They were mages, their faces cold and arrogant.
"Listen, people of Redania!" the lead mage cried, his voice magically amplified to echo off the harbor walls. "The eclipse of twelve years ago was no mere trick of the sun. It was the Black Sun, the herald of Eltibald's Prophecy. Sixty girls were born under that dark star, and they carry the seeds of the apocalypse in their marrow!"
Aris stopped in his tracks, his hand tightening on his basket.
"They look like your daughters, your sisters," the mage continued, his eyes scanning the crowd with predatory intent. "But inside, they are changing. Their blood is turning to venom. Their hearts are hardening into stone. They must be found. They must be... contained."
The crowd erupted in a panicked murmur. Aris felt a cold shiver go down his spine. He looked at the mages and saw not holy protectors, but butchers in silk.
SYSTEM ALERT:
New Investigation: The Black Sun Conspiracy.
Objective: Verify the biological claims of the 'Curse.'
Sage Intuition: The 'Curse' smells of political alchemy and fabricated evidence.
Aris slipped away from the square before the mages could begin their "inquisition." He knew that a girl in Blaviken, the daughter of a local noble, had been born in 1200. He had seen her playing in the fields—a girl named Syanna.
As he hurried back toward the cliffs, his mind was already racing. If the mages were lying, they weren't just killing girls; they were systematiclly erasing powerful female Sources before they could learn to control their magic. They were pruning the world's potential to keep it under their thumb.
"They want to find monsters," Aris whispered as he reached the safety of his cave. "But I think the only monsters in Blaviken are the ones wearing the robes."
He looked at his cauldron. He needed more than healing salves now. He needed to see through walls, and he needed to walk where no one could follow. It was time to brew the Invisibility Potion.
The mist clung to the towers of the noble's estate like a shroud as Aris climbed the perimeter wall. He had spent days perfecting the Invisibility Potion; its taste was like cold iron and peppermint, and as he swallowed the vial, he watched his hands dissolve into the moonlight.
To the mages' wards, he was a ghost. Their Dimeritium sensors looked for the messy, chaotic pull of a "Source," but Aris's system-based magic was structured and silent. He slipped through the heavy oak doors of the mages' temporary sanctum, his boots making no sound on the stone floors.
On a desk cluttered with astrology charts and obsidian mirrors, he found it: the lead mage's private diary. Using a hushed Alohomora, the lock clicked open.
Aris's eyes scanned the pages, his modern soul recoiling in disgust. "Subject Syanna shows high-amplitude magical output. Potential to become a Tier-1 Sorceress beyond the Council's reach. Administered Dimeritium dust into her evening meal. The resulting internal hemorrhaging and erratic behavior will be presented to the Ealdorman as 'Black Sun' corruption tomorrow morning. Extraction to the autopsy table is scheduled for dawn."
"It's a slaughterhouse," Aris hissed. They weren't hunting monsters; they were manufacturing them by poisoning girls with powerful Source potential to keep the Brotherhood of Sorcerers in absolute control.
There was no time for a subtle plan. Aris rushed toward the high tower at the edge of the estate. He bypassed the sleeping guards with a flick of his hand, whispering Muffliato to ensure their snores drowned out his footsteps.
Inside the cold, damp cell, twelve-year-old Syanna lay curled on a straw mat. Her skin was pale, and she was shaking with a violent, magical fever. Small red sparks—uncontrolled Chaos—flickered from her fingertips, singing the straw. The Dimeritium in her blood was turning her own power into a cage of agony.
"Syanna," Aris whispered, shedding the invisibility.
The girl gasped, backing against the wall. "Are you... are you the executioner?"
"I'm the one who's taking you home," Aris said, his voice steady. He didn't have a wand yet, but he had the Levitation Charm. With a sharp gesture, the heavy iron bars of her window groaned and twisted outward, silenced by his magic.
He didn't wait for her to agree. He grabbed her hand—her skin was burning—and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa."
They didn't fly; they drifted, a slow, controlled descent from the tower height into the dark forest below. Every second was a gamble against the mages sensing the surge, but Aris used his modern knowledge of the estate's blind spots to navigate the shadows.
Minutes later, they reached the hidden crevice in the cliffs. Aris carried the half-conscious girl behind the waterfall and into the glowing blue light of his sea-cave. The scent of Dittany and Mandrake acted like a balm against the stench of the tower.
He laid her on a stone slab he had cushioned with soft moss. "You're safe here," he said, turning toward his cauldron. "But we have to move fast. They've been poisoning you, and your magic is trying to fight back. If we don't stabilize you, the 'curse' they lied about will become real."
As he began to brew a potent Wiggenweld Potion variant, Aris looked at the girl. She was the first "cursed" daughter he had saved, but he knew she wouldn't be the last. The Human Sage had finally begun his work, and the first step was proving that the mages' prophecy was written in blood, not destiny.