The Last Acuran
The Librarian of Birohhal is a simple old man. Tucking himself into his dusty old robes as he wanders down the hallways of red carpets with his floating candle. Carrying a stack of books in an attempt to return them to their rightful place. He could charm them to return to the proper place of course, but then he wouldn't be able to read all the book titles on the shelves.
As he climbs up to the fourth rung of the ladder, he streatches over to the right to slide the last book neatly into its home. Wedged between a beautifully coloured ruby tinted novel and a thinner more worn out manuscript. He tries and tries again, until eventually the book leaves his hand and falls to the ground.
He slides down the wooden ladder in a panic, as if he had broke a precious glass. Picking up the book to brush off the dust and check for any creases or worse, a tear. Double checking all was well with the book and whispering an apology, his eyes are drawn to the titles of the now open book, reading "The Last Acuran". This certainly was an intriguing title, surely it is his duty to be well equipped with the knowledge of as many books as possible. So the simple old man did what any sensible person would do and began reading.
The lands of Violem use to be full of heroes. Great wielders of magic found in all corners of the world, shaping history with the snap of a finger. But those days are long gone. The Acuran are no more and with it, the last defence from ourselves. Ferrelwood, one of the few towns still standing in the South West of Cytal. A home to strong and resilient people who know how to survive the harsh times of nature. From the ruthless cyclones to never tiring monsters of the Great Forest. But that all changed, when it found us. It began a night like any other. Dark clouds hid the stars from view, there was a strong breeze causing wood to creak and the distant howl of monsters from the forest cut the awkward silence of peace. I was patrolling the streets, working the night shift under the command of the sheriff. We all were, watching out for anything that might hide in the darkest alleyways or think it could get the best of these hard skinned townsfolk. So when we heard a child scream, it wasn’t unexpected. We leaped into action and rushed to her aid. When we arrived, all we found was a scared little girl pointing at her mirror. Then came the next, just up the street. I ran to find another child drained of colour, terrified of his father’s polished sword. More and more screams rang out in the night, leading to the old clock tower. They all said the same thing, it was in the corner of their eye. Something moving, something quick. They would follow their curiosity and look into a mirror, a window, a pearl necklace, polished sword, the water barrel outside. Anything you could possibly see yourself inside the children screamed in fear. And what stared back was unexpected. A thing with red eyes, but it was no demon or beast but a man. Watching, stalking, waiting. The next morning, the town was in disarray and the sheriff was overwhelmed with complaints and angered parents demanding answers. What is this thing? Why is it after the children? How did it get here? How do you intend to kill it? So many questions and the sheriff had no answers. He gathered all under his authority to the town hall, announced we would not rest until we found this man in the mirror. For the rest of the daystar light, we searched high and low. Checking every puddle, every coin, every glass bottle on the streets and in the homes of Ferrelwood. Not one of us could find any trace of the man with the red eyes. Our search came to an end for the day with no luck. For the safety and peace of mind of the people, the sheriff decided to double the patrols of the night. If he returned, then we would find him. Normally, I would stick to my route to the step. And until the cries of children began again I did just that. But when the echoes of younglings in disarray flooded the cold air of the night, my focus was drawn to the clocktower once more. Something about it seemed, different. The tower itself was old, the oldest building in all town. Said to still be standing before the fall of Cynnaghor itself, it sure looked like it. Old, abandoned and looking like the stones were about to fade to dust any day now. But on this night, with all the madness seeping throughout the town, the clocktower seemed still. Eerily stable, just peering over us with interest. It was this intuition that made me leave my post and head for the front door. Clambering my way around the derelict ruins of the clocktower in the cold and dark interior, I manage to find a staircase spiralling up into the heart of the clock. A room full of rusted brass cogs, levers decorated in cobwebs and dried out barrels. All undercover of thick grey sheets of dust. All except one thing. A mirror in the corner, which seemed out of place. Why would you need a mirror up here in the first place? But also, it didn’t seem as old as time itself. In fact, it looked practically new. No dust at all, a glistening silver frame and the mirror perfectly reflecting the flickering light of my torch. It was out of place that was for certain, so I began inspecting it for any clues. Nothing on the back, no runes engraved anywhere I could see. Just a clean mirror in a tower of time long decommissioned. I stood there, looking, staring for anything to link it to the screams down in the town. I’m not sure why but looking at myself I was somehow drawn to the eyes, I hadn’t noticed myself looking so old. But I also didn’t think my eyes were that dark. I got closer to look more clearly, raising my torch to my head which is when I saw it. My eyes, the gateway to our inner selves, were as crimson as blood or a royal carpet in the distant kingdoms of Ascor. My eyes were red, staring at me, into me. Then without any rhyme or reason, I saw myself turn and walk away. My reflection was not my own. Whatever it was, it was wanting me to follow. But it was a mirror, just a normal mirror. I could not follow, unless. I checked the surface of the mirror once more, touching the ice-cold glass. To my surprise, what I would expect to be a solid object, rippled like a still lake greeted by a single teardrop of the skies above. I knew it was dangerous, I knew I should have called for help. But in the moment, I was mesmerized, drawn to know more answers. So, I treated the mirror for what it really was, a gateway of some kind and entered into the unknown. The other side was a strange sensation, it was a blur really. But I remember the fuzzy, spinning I felt in my head. And my vision seemed hazy, not as strong as a blur from a night at Hop & Brew more like the outlines of the room didn’t quite match what they were meant to frame. It took me a few seconds to gain some sort of balance. Once I did, I began looking for myself with the red eyes, but they had somehow vanished. Nowhere to be seen, only a glow from the clock face glass gave any sort of light. I edged closer to the window to look down at an inverted view of the streets I knew. Houses in reverse, green tints to lamps lining down the roads and shadowy figures murmuring to themselves. They felt oddly familiar but I could not place why at the time. In the moment it felt quite a view to behold, something that only heroes of legends would see. Thinking back now, it was a pretty sight to behold, but my mind was quickly distracted by what happened next. The man with the red eyes, me? I? Whatever it was, it was back. And seeing it in the flesh was nothing I wish to experience again. It looked, distorted. Corrupted. Full of dark energy carrying a bloodlust in his eyes. I was fast, charging across the room with a copy of my blade in the wrong hand. Catching me off guard I fell to the floor. Marked with a gash spilling green down my arm. I fumbled to my feet to try evade his attacks. Rolling and diving to avoid another injury. With a strong kick to the head it seemed dazed. Long enough for me to turn and race back towards the door of reflection. Leaping back into my world, my headache stopped and my vision back to normal. But that wasn’t the end of my troubles, the copy of me also pounced through the mirror revealing itself to be a shimmering doppelganger. Its skin crystalized as tough as a diamond and eyes glowing with burning embers of rage. But they were not focused on me. I twisted my head to look at his point of interest which is when I finally noticed her. An old woman wearing a cloak and hood made of fine silk, hair as silver as a family heirloom and a face full of wrinkles yet somehow looking stronger than 10 fine soldiers. She did not speak; she did not even look in my direction. Instead, her gaze was intertwined with my darker inversion. He snarled but the woman did not break her stance. The next part happened quite quickly. There was magic flying and flowing around the room, a whirlwind of pure energy clashing with forces of evil. Light bouncing, magic cracking and explosive impacts that seemed to occur in every pocket of the air. All I could see was the woman stepping closer and closer to the man with the red eyes. Closer she marched with a power like anything I have ever felt before. Closer she concentrated her magic towards the mirror. Then in a flash, everything was still. Quiet. All I could see was the mirror. I scrambled to my feet to try and follow but I was knocked back by some sort of explosion. The next thing I remember, I was in bed resting from injuries. The sheriff by my side to try get some answers. From his perspective I went missing during the night. Shortly followed by an explosion in the old clock tower, here is where they found me. Alive, but surrounded by debris and shards of glass and mirror scattered across the room. Still I am unsure what happened that night, or why it happened. But I do know one thing for sure. The woman I saw in the clocktower, she was a special person. A woman of immense power, Acuran for sure. And I believe she was the last of her kind. Sacrificing herself to protect us from the man in the mirror. She saved us, she saved me and now she is gone. Just like all the Acuran, gone.
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