Arcanum Unbound

Prologue: Eli's Lament

I never asked for magic. In the stories, it's a gift, a stroke of fate marking you as chosen or special. But when the fabric of reality warps at your unwitting command, when the world bends in ways it shouldn't, you don't feel chosen. You feel cursed.

The day it all ended—or perhaps truly began—I was alone, as I had been since the whispers of my abilities began. Isolation wasn't new to me; I'd always been on the periphery, the odd one out. But magic, this unasked-for power, alienated me in ways I couldn't have imagined.

My parents noticed it first. The small things: spoons bending, lights flickering, the unexplained chill that settled in the room when I was upset. They said it was stress, a phase, something explainable. But we all knew it wasn't. Friends, or those I once called that, drifted away, repelled by an aura I unwittingly exuded. They never said it, but I saw the fear in their eyes, the hesitation in their approach. I became a pariah, an anomaly to be avoided.

That final day, I wandered the streets aimlessly after school, the weight of my solitude a constant companion. The news of government agents—hunters—had reached even my reclusive ears. They sought out people like me, those touched by magic, for registration, for control. The very thought sent shivers down my spine.

An alley offered a momentary refuge, a place to catch my breath and gather my scattered thoughts. But they found me, as I knew they eventually would. Two agents, their approach silent but intent, their suits a stark contrast to the crumbling brick and trash-strewn pavement of my sanctuary.

"Eli Turner?" The taller one spoke, his voice devoid of warmth. They knew who I was, what I was. Denial was futile.

I nodded, my throat tight with fear. "You've been identified as possessing abilities beyond the norm," he continued, the bureaucratic phrasing doing nothing to mask the accusation in his tone. "For the safety of the community and yourself, you must come with us for registration and testing."

Resistance flickered within me, a desperate, instinctual urge to flee, to fight. But where could I go? What chance did I have against the might of the government? The thought of being caged, studied, controlled... It was too much to bear.

The air around me thickened, responding to my rising panic. The agents noticed, their hands moving to the weapons at their belts—a clear sign they were prepared for this, for me.

"I won't go with you," I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. It was all the defiance I could muster.

Their response was swift, a blur of motion as they advanced. Fear overwhelmed me, and with it came a surge of power, uncontrolled and wild. The world erupted in chaos, the alley a maelstrom of magic and fear. I didn't mean to hurt anyone; I just wanted to be left alone, to live in peace with this curse that fate had thrust upon me.

But they didn't see it that way. To them, I was a threat to be neutralized, a problem to be solved. The last thing I saw was the flash of a weapon, not meant to kill, they said, but to subdue. Yet, in the chaos, in the fear, it didn't matter. The darkness claimed me, a silent witness to my final thought: I never asked for magic.

As my consciousness faded, the sounds of the alley, the city, the world, dimmed to nothing. I was alone, truly alone, in the darkness. And then, even that was gone.