Shia the warlock, the father, and the mother.

[Lightbeard]

Chapter 1: The Dark Ambitions of Elias Leonard:

Elias Leonard was a man who desired power above all else. His pact with an eldritch entity granted him magic beyond  his mortal comprehension, but it was not enough. He was always searching, always grasping for more. When his daughter, Shia, was born, he realized she carried something unique, an innate connection to the very forces he had bargained with. Unlike him, who had to seek power through sacrifice and submission, Shia was power. And that was something Elias could not allow to exist outside of his control.

Shia’s mother, Evelyne Laurent, was no ordinary woman. She was a sorceress, one who understood magic in ways that Elias never could. While Elias relied on his pact, Evelyne’s power was natural, something woven into her very soul. Elias had once loved her, or at least, he had convinced himself he did. But when she became pregnant, his ambitions took hold of him.

He saw their child not as a daughter, but as a vessel. What he would describe as a font of untapped eldritch energy that could be molded, cultivated, and ultimately taken. Evelyne, however, had no intention of allowing their child to be used for such dark purposes. She knew of Elias’s hunger, had seen the way he obsessed over power, how he spoke of destiny and sacrifice in hushed tones. When she discovered his true plan, to siphon their daughter’s potential for himself through a forbidden ritual, she tried to flee with her daughter.

Elias was faster.

The storm raged outside, rain hammering against the windows of the isolated manor. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the dimly lit study where Elias Leonard stood over the crib. The infant, Shia, whimpered softly in her sleep, unaware of the decision that had been made. Elias, clad in dark leathers and layered in shadow, whispered a few words in an unknown tongue, pressing a hand over the child's chest. A faint, eldritch glow pulsed in his palm before fading, binding her fate further to the darkness.

He turned to leave, but only to feel the very air crackle with magic behind him.

"Put her down."

The voice was raw with fury, edged with sorrow. Evelyne Laurent stood in the threshold, drenched from the storm, golden hair clinging to her face. Her emerald eyes burned with an inner light as power radiated from her form.

Elias sighed, stepping away from the crib, turning with the casual confidence of a man who believed himself untouchable. "You were always going to find out eventually," he mused, fingers already curling around the arcane sigils in his mind. "But I had hoped you would be wiser than this."

Evelyne’s answer was not words, but fire.

She raised a hand, and a blazing Scorching Ray erupted from her palm, three streaks of searing light lancing toward him.

Elias reacted instantly, muttering an incantation as a translucent green Darkness spread from his outstretched hand, swallowing the room in impenetrable black. The fire passed through, missing its mark as he sidestepped within the obscured void.

Evelyne gritted her teeth, she had no time for his games. With a whispered command, her eyes glowed with unnatural sight, See Invisibility layered over her sorceress instincts, piercing through his shadows. She saw him moving to the side, fingers weaving another spell.

A bolt of sickly violet energy streaked toward her. She threw up a hand, deflecting the blast as sparks of eldritch energy crackled against the barrier.

Then she stepped forward and retaliated with a sweep of her arm. The temperature in the room dropped as a swirling spray of dazzling hues exploded from her fingertips, aimed to overwhelm his senses.

Elias recoiled, staggering as the spell struck him full force. His vision blurred, colors twisting violently around him. His hands trembled, but only for a moment. A deep, guttural utterance slipped from his lips, an invocation drawn from the darkness beyond the veil. The effect was dulled, and he grinned through the haze.

"You always had a flair for the dramatic," he taunted, raising his hands, fingers snapping. The air shimmered, twisting as black tendrils slithered out from beneath the floorboards.  A single, terrible word was spoken, and the glass windows of the manor exploded outward, shards of glass caught in the wind like razors.

Evelyne flinched as a deep gash sliced across her shoulder. But she was already moving, already chanting. With a flick of her wrist, she sent forth a Magic Missile, four bolts of force streaking unerringly through the shadows and striking Elias dead center. He let out a grunt, staggering as the impact bruised his ribs.

"You’re not leaving here with her," Evelyne growled, stepping forward. Electricity crackled at her fingertips, ready to strike.

But Elias only smirked. His hand reached for his belt, pulling free a small, obsidian shard. He crushed it in his palm. The room darkened further as a summoned swarm took effect and dozens of bats burst forth, filling the air with shrill cries and slashing wings.

The sorceress cursed as the creatures swarmed her, biting at her skin, disrupting her focus.

Elias didn't waste the opening. He raised a hand and pointed at her.

"Kneel."

The magic struck her like a hammer. Evelyne gasped as her body betrayed her, legs buckling as she collapsed to one knee. She grit her teeth, rage flaring in her chest, but the moment’s hesitation was all Elias needed.

A dark light flared around his hands as he unleashed a curse, a wave of dread sinking into her mind. Evelyne trembled as her limbs felt heavier, her magic harder to summon.

"You always were strong," Elias admitted as he stepped closer. "But you can't stop this, Evelyne. You never could. Shia is mine."

The words snapped something inside her.

With sheer force of will, she fought through the spell’s grasp, pain lancing through her skull as she forced herself to stand. A deep, guttural word tore from her lips, her fingers twisting in arcane fury.

Flames roared from her outstretched hands, sweeping the room in a cone of fire. The bats shrieked and burned away, the wooden walls blackening from the heat. Elias barely had time to react as the fire caught his cloak, scorching his side.

Snarling, he lashed out with another blast of eldritch magic, but Evelyne ducked, rolling forward with inhuman grace. Her free hand flared, energy crackling.

The spell struck true.

Elias staggered back, his limbs suddenly sluggish, his strength sapped from his body.

Evelyne saw her opening.

She whispered arcane words, and lightning crackled around her fingers. This was it. The final strike.

But Elias was always a step ahead.

His weakened hands trembled, but Elias was not finished. He reached deep, summoning the last of his strength, and extended his fingers toward Evelyne.

A whisper. A curse. Darkness absolute.

The air grew thick with rot as the shadows in the room twisted unnaturally. From the darkness behind Evelyne, a skeletal figure wrenched itself free from the gloom, its empty sockets burning with greenish fire.

Evelyne barely had time to react before bony fingers clamped around her throat, wrenching her back. She gasped, struggling against the unnatural strength of the summoned undead.

Elias took no pleasure in what came next, only necessity.

His hand ignited with dark power as he stepped forward, muttering the incantation for his most devastating invocation. A sickly green glow radiated from his palm.

He drove his eldritch-charged fist directly into Evelyne’s gut.

The force of the impact sent her staggering, eldritch energy searing into her flesh, twisting through her veins with an agonizing burn. Her breath caught, lungs refusing to expand. Weighed down by the blow.

Then came the second strike.

And the third.

Each one infused with raw, unholy power, each one leaving a deeper wound, tearing through flesh and bone with merciless precision. Evelyne tried to scream, but only blood spilled from her lips.

She collapsed, her body striking the cold wooden floor with a sickening thud.

The skeletal servant released her, its task complete, and faded into nothing.

Elias stood over her, breathing heavily, his own body weakened by the battle.

Evelyne twitched, barely clinging to consciousness. Her vision blurred and her arms refused to move. She could only watch, helpless, as Elias turned away, stepping toward the crib.

Shia whimpered softly in her sleep, unaware of the war fought over her soul.

Elias scooped her up, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he hesitated, glancing back at Evelyne. Blood pooled beneath her, dark and glistening in the firelight. She wouldn’t die, not yet. But she wouldn’t be able to stop him either.

He murmured a final invocation, wrapping shadows around himself like a cloak.

Then, without another word, he vanished into the night.

Evelyne lay there, breath shallow, eyes wide, her body refusing to move. The storm outside howled, thunder rolling across the sky. And she could do nothing but drown in her own blood.

[Lightbeard]

Chapter 2: A Childhood of Shadows

On the night, he stole Shia away and left Evelyne for dead. He took the infant to a small, isolated village where they could remain hidden. To Shia, he became a mentor, a father who lovingly taught her to control the strange gifts that manifested within her. He filled her mind with stories of a mother lost to tragedy, shaping himself into the only person she could ever trust. All the while, he prepared. Every lesson, every bit of guidance he gave her was not for her benefit, it was to ensure that, when the time was right, the ritual would succeed.

Shia Leonard never asked for power, she was born with it. Even before she could understand what it meant, it was there, lurking just beneath the surface, woven into her very being. It started with subtle things that could be dismissed as childhood fancies, tricks of the imagination. Flickering candle flames stretching toward her tiny fingers as if drawn by an unseen breath, their light dancing unnaturally as though whispering secrets only she could hear. The feeling of unseen eyes watching her from the corners of dimly lit rooms, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and her heart beat a little faster. The way shadows seemed to thicken when she was frightened, curling around her like protective arms, whispering in a language she couldn’t understand, but somehow felt deep in her bones. These things unsettled her, but in the way a child fears the unknown, never fully grasping the depth of what it means.

Her father, Elias Leonard, noticed early on. A warlock himself, he recognized the signs the way darkness clung to her like a living thing, the way the air in a room grew heavy when she was near, how the night itself seemed to deepen, as if drawn to her presence. He observed in silence at first, watching as the phenomenon grew stronger with each passing year. When he was certain, when there was no longer any room for doubt, he tried to guide her, shape her, and most importantly, keep her from fearing it. “The dark is only scary when you let it be,” he would say, his voice smooth as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face before extinguishing the bedside lantern. His smile was gentle, but his eyes told a different story. They lingered on her longer than they should have, not with the warmth of a father’s love, but with a quiet, simmering calculation. Even as he reassured her, his own worry deepened. He saw too much of himself in her, but also something more. Something he could not yet define. Something he could not control.

The first undeniable sign came when she was five. The house, usually warm with the scent of parchment and candle wax, had fallen into a hush, wrapped in the stillness of midnight. Elias sat alone in his study, the rhythmic scratching of his quill the only sound as he poured over ink-stained pages. Then, without warning, a sudden chill slithered through the room. The candlelight dimmed but not extinguished, yet suffocated, as though smothered by unseen hands. His brows furrowed. He glanced toward the door, and there she stood. Small, clad in a thin nightgown, her dark hair tousled from sleep, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. She rubbed at her eyes with a tiny fist, unaware of what she had done. Yet the room had changed. The corners of the study darkened unnaturally, shadows stretching like liquid smoke, bending toward her as if pulled by an invisible tide. They reached, yearning. Then, as if realizing they had been seen, they slithered back into the recesses of the room, melting into the ordinary darkness once more.

Elias did not speak. He rose, swift and silent, and gathered her into his arms, pressing her small frame against his chest as if trying to shield her from something neither of them fully understood. He carried her back to bed, laying her down with careful hands. But long after she had drifted back into slumber, her breath soft and steady, his mind remained restless. He sat by her bedside, watching her small form rise and fall with each breath, his thoughts tangled between fear and something darker, possibility. The weight of what he had just witnessed settled heavily in his chest, an unspoken truth lingering in the air. The darkness did not simply react to her. It responded.

The incidents only grew stranger as she aged. When she was seven, she had a nightmare so terrible that it shattered the silence of the house with her screams. But the room responded. The walls shuddered, the very air pressing inward as if recoiling from something unseen. The darkness peeled away from its natural place, thickening into something tangible, something that moved. It poured onto the floor in thick, viscous tendrils, curling like smoke, writhing in distress. The air became suffocating, heavy with an unseen presence that made the floorboards groan under its weight. Then came the light, sudden, searing, as her father burst into the room. His palm crackled with eldritch energy, a muted violet glow casting flickering shadows along the walls. He whispered hurried words of power, his voice sharp with urgency. The shadows recoiled as if burned, slithering back into the cracks of the floor, withdrawing into the corners, retreating into the safety of the unseen. The lingering presence faded, but the weight of it remained, a silent reminder of what had just transpired.

Elias knelt beside her, his arms gathering her close, whispering reassurances as he stroked her hair with shaking fingers. “It’s alright, my little star. You are safe.” But his voice wavered, and the tension in his arms betrayed him. He knew better. He had known for a long time. The darkness had not simply stirred in her presence. It had acted. It had listened. They were watching. They had always been watching.

As she grew, the world itself seemed to react to her emotions. She had always been an outsider, the subject of hushed whispers and wary glances. One day, a group of local children taunted her, whispering behind cupped hands about the rumors that clung to her family like smoke. They called her strange. Cursed. The daughter of something unnatural. She barely spoke a word in response, but the sky dimmed unnaturally. The sun did not disappear behind clouds, it was as though a great, oppressive weight had settled over the land, something unseen pressing down upon them. The air crackled with an unnatural stillness, a cold creeping dread that slithered into the bones of all who stood near. The other children felt it, the unseen terror that settled over them, and they scattered in fear. She stood alone in the street, her hands trembling at her sides, her breath ragged. That night, Elias found her sitting on the floor of her room, knees drawn to her chest, silent and shaken. He did not scold her for losing control—he only watched her with an unreadable expression, something between fear and understanding shadowing his face.

[Lightbeard]

Chapter 3 The Ritual and the Reckoning:

Elias’s plan was methodical. He could not simply take Shia’s power, such raw energy needed to be carefully extracted, bound, and transferred. He waited until she grew strong enough, until the shadows that followed her became darker, deeper. The ritual required her complete trust, and so he wove himself into her world as her only source of guidance.

The preparation was meticulous. He needed her compliant, unaware, and open to the siphoning of her very essence. Over weeks, he introduced a special sleeping tonic into her nightly routine—an alchemical concoction infused with eldritch whispers, subtly attuning her subconscious mind to his command. When the night of the ritual arrived, he increased the dose, ensuring that she would drift into a deep, pliant slumber, her will dulled, her defenses weakened.
The chamber was prepared with precision. Sigils carved into the wooden floor pulsed with faint, violet energy, binding Shia’s latent power to the ritual’s design. At the center, she lay upon an altar of obsidian, her breath slow, her body motionless. Surrounding her, twisted runes drawn in blood formed an intricate web, linking her essence to Elias himself. He stood over her, chanting in the ancient tongue of his patrons, his own body glowing with dark energy as he began the process.

The siphoning was delicate, yet brutal. He did not simply pull from her—he channeled through her, using her as a conduit to deepen his connection to the eldritch realm. A stream of inky darkness slithered from her form, drawn through the sigils into his outstretched hands. The sensation was intoxicating, raw power, boundless and pure, flowing into him. He could feel the shift, the weight of mortality loosening its grip on his being. He was becoming more.
But the process was not instant. The energy had to be fully integrated, absorbed without resistance. It was in this vulnerable moment, in the depths of his indulgence, that Elias had left himself exposed.

But Elias was arrogant. He believed Evelyne was gone, that he had buried her in the past. He never anticipated that she would find him.

For years, Evelyne searched for her daughter. Wounded and nearly powerless after Elias’s attack, she spent every moment regaining her strength, tracing his steps, unraveling his lies.

Elias had not merely fled, he had buried his trail under layers of deception, misdirection, and eldritch influence. Every lead Evelyne found unraveled into a dead end, each false path meticulously crafted to lead her further astray. He had always been cunning, always three steps ahead, ensuring that no trace of his presence lingered where it could be easily followed. He erased records, altered memories with a pile of silver or gold, and if they did not partake, ensured that no one who had seen him with Shia lived to speak of it.

Her journey took her through forgotten towns, where whispers of a man wielding unnatural power stirred fearful murmurs. She followed stories of strange occurrences—a village where shadows moved of their own accord, a lone traveler whose presence made the night darker than it should be, a town where every candlelight flickered out the moment he passed. Each rumor rekindled hope, and each time she arrived, he was already gone.

She sought out seers and diviners, those who could pierce the veil and see into the past. But every vision was obscured, clouded by an unnatural interference. Even the most gifted among them spoke of a presence blocking their sight, an unseen force warping the threads of fate itself. Some warned her against continuing, whispering that the path she walked led only to despair. Others demanded she leave before something else noticed her prying.

Evelyne refused to stop. She traveled through desolate ruins where echoes of forgotten magic still lingered, through forests twisted by the residue of eldritch corruption. She pushed her body beyond exhaustion, sustained only by the burning need to find her daughter. Each town she passed, she left behind a trail of questions, of witnesses who only recalled the barest glimpses of a man who never stayed in one place long enough to be caught.

Then, at last, she found something real. A name, whispered in a half-abandoned monastery, carved into the margins of an ancient text detailing forbidden rituals. Elias had grown bolder, settling in a secluded manor where his influence seeped into the land itself. The shadows there did not move as they should. The people in the surrounding village spoke little of him because of Shia childhood encounters, making their fear very palpable.

Evelyne was close. Closer than she had ever been.

She gathered what strength remained, steeled herself for the confrontation. She had spent years preparing, honing her magic, reforging herself into something stronger. The moment she stepped onto the manor grounds, she felt it Shia’s presence, like a distant heartbeat calling out to her.
Her daughter was here.

And so was Elias.

In truth, the confrontation was swift and brutal. Evelyne struck first, using magic that burned through Elias’s defenses before he even had time to react.  In the chaos, something went wrong. A backlash of eldritch energy tore through the air, swallowing him in an instant. Whether he was dead, trapped, or something far worse, Evelyne did not know.

She wanted to take Shia that night. To finally reclaim her daughter. But Evelyne saw the girl Elias had shaped, one who had been raised on his lies, who had never known her real mother, who trusted the very man who had meant to destroy her. Taking Shia by force would only drive her further into darkness. And so, with a heavy heart, Evelyne disappeared once more, watching from the shadows. She’ll never understand why she made this choice. Almost as if the choice was made for her.

To Shia, it was sudden, inexplicable. One night, he was there, pouring over tomes by candlelight. By morning, he was gone, leaving behind only unanswered questions and the fading scent of ink and old parchment. She searched for him, desperate for any trace, any sign. But there was nothing.

What happened that night he vanished is something Shia may never know. She only knows that one morning, Elias was gone. There was no sign of a struggle, no farewell, only absence.

Shia does not know what her father really was. She still believes him to be a guiding force in her life, but there was something that never felt right with her.

Determined to uncover the truth, Shia scoured the last remaining pages of her father’s research.

[Lightbeard]

Chapter 4: The Mist Beckons
The silence of the manor was unbearable.

Shia sat in her father’s study, surrounded by stacks of parchment and ancient tomes, the scent of ink and aged paper filling the air. Her father had been gone for days now. No note, no sign of struggle, just absence. She refused to believe he was simply gone. He wouldn’t leave her, not without reason. There had to be something hidden in his research, something buried in the labyrinth of ink-scrawled pages. She poured over the documents again and again, her fingers tracing the faded ink, her eyes scanning the cryptic notes. They were erratic, fragmented, whole sections were missing, torn pages, words scratched out or smudged beyond recognition. Elias had always been meticulous, yet these writings looked like the ravings of a man unraveling, words looping in circles, symbols that made her head ache when she stared too long.

Her body ached from sleepless nights, vision blurred from the candlelight’s flickering strain. She was losing track of time, losing herself in the endless spiral of ink and meaninglessness. Whispers scratched at the back of her mind, faint, insidious things. She wasn’t even sure if they were real anymore. Were they remnants of her father’s spells? Or something else entirely? When she closed her eyes, she saw shifting figures in the darkness, fleeting shapes she could never quite catch.

She barely ate. Water sat untouched by her side, the pages beneath her fingers growing greasy with exhaustion. Every time she convinced herself to rest, something called her back, some unseen presence urging her forward, demanding she understand what he left behind. The feeling was maddening, a tension that curled in her gut like an uncoiling serpent. Then, on the third sleepless night, she found it.At first, it seemed like just another fragmented passage, buried beneath corrections and crossed-out phrases. But then she noticed the difference. The handwriting was not Elias’s.It was jagged, uneven, the ink bleeding into the parchment as though written in haste. A single sentence, half-finished, scrawled at the bottom of a page detailing esoteric rituals:

The monastery is the source, but the door will not

That was it. The rest of the page had been violently scratched over, the ink gouged so deep it nearly tore the parchment. Someone had wanted to erase it, to make sure it was never read.Shia’s breath hitched. The monastery. It had appeared in Elias’s writings before, but never with such urgency. Never like this. And who had written this? A warning? A clue? A trap? She clenched her fists. It didn’t matter. It was the only lead she had. Shia spent the next day preparing. She packed only what was necessary, her father’s notes, a handful of supplies, a dagger she had never used but kept close regardless. Then, she set out. The journey to the monastery took her through the dense woods beyond the village. The deeper she walked, the quieter the world became. No birds, no wind, just the crunch of her footsteps on damp earth. A strange unease settled in her chest. The air felt heavier with every step, the trees looming taller, their branches twisting unnaturally.

Then, the fog rolled in.

At first, it drifted lazily between the trees, curling around her ankles. Then it thickened, rising higher, swallowing the world in a dense, white shroud. Shia stopped, heart hammering. She turned, trying to retrace her steps, but the path was gone. The trees had vanished, replaced by endless mist. It pressed against her, whispering in a voice just beyond comprehension. Is that a person, was that a voice. Shia’s mind reals with fear and frustration. The monastery is so close.

She staggered forward, blind, breath shallow. Her mind reeled, was this magic? A trick of the monastery’s wards? Or something worse?
Then came the pull. It wasn’t physical, yet it gripped her all the same, an unseen force wrapping around her very being, dragging her forward. Her limbs grew heavy, her vision blurred. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of falling, the sensation of being taken. Then Heat. The scent of earth and fire. The distant sound of laughter.

Shia’s eyes fluttered open. She was no longer in the forest. Above her stretched a vast, star-speckled sky, the smoke of a nearby fire curling toward the heavens. Around her, figures moved, people dressed in vibrant silks and gold, their voices rich with song and story.
The Vistani.

She had never heard of them before, these wandering folk, mystics, seers who traveled the lands beyond the understanding of others. But how had she come to be here? Her body felt weak, as if she had been asleep for days. A figure approached, a man with piercing eyes, a knowing smile.

Shia swallowed, her throat dry. “Where am I?”

The Man only chuckled, gesturing toward the caravan and the camp. “You are where the fates have led you.”

Shia sat up, her mind still spinning, her father’s notes still clutched in her hands. The monastery, the mist, the whispers none of it made sense. But one thing was certain.

She was no longer in the world she knew.

And there was no way back.