I am Karst, Guardian of the Northern Light.
When the world was young, the gods opened rifts in the earth and revealed to us four pillars of divine light—pure elemental energy that bestowed us with the power of magic.
The gods smiled upon us, for we were their favourites. They gifted to us great knowledge and wondrous powers. They taught us to harness the energies of the world and made us the first sorcerers. With our magics we could create and conjure. We could change and restore life. We tamed nature and changed the world as we built our first settlements. With strength, with valour, wisdom and faith, we prospered and founded the great kingdoms of Weyard.
In the city of Loho we built a grand temple to the gods. Here, the gods answered our prayers directly and listened to our plights with interest.
The Golden City of Loho was the pinnacle of civilization. It was our pride and testament of greatness. Legends of its immense beauty are still told today. Its towers and minarets shone like gold in the sunlight and people and magical creatures circled the skies on wings and enchantments.
In here, we researched magic and recorded history. From here, we helped the lesser races to their feet. We taught them how to refine their primitive magic and how to honour the gods. We helped them build their first settlements and introduced them to our technology. And to us, they looked for guidance and inspiration.
They called us the Ancients.
I am Karst, Guardian of the Northern Light. The blood of the Ancients flows in my veins.
Once, my people guided the lesser races to glory. Now, we're a mere shadow of what we used to be.
Humans were once meek, relying on us for survival like the other lesser races. But they rose to power with their newfound magic. Their will and resilience allowed them to easily learn and adapt magic. As time went on, they learned to stand on their own and no longer needed our help. As time went on, they outnumbered and started overpowering the other lesser races.
Defeated tribes came to our doors and pleaded for help, speaking of the humans' crime against their people. But in our arrogance, we didn't intervene. We kept to ourselves in our fortified cities while the rest of the world stood in flames. The wars of the lesser races did not concern us. And in indignation, the gods abandoned us when we needed them the most.
The humans enslaved a majority of the world, building sprawling empires on the ruins of conquered cities and on the ashes of the dead. But their greed and thirst for power was insatiable and finally, the warlords turned on each other for absolute dominion of the world.
When we finally rose to the call to arms, it was too late. The human sorcerers twisted our magic and inventions, and turned them into weapons of mass destruction. That was the beginning of the bloody Alchemy Wars and the Age of Chaos.
No nation was safe—nothing sacred. Revered as we were in the beginning of time, we were now nothing more than another challenge to overcome. The humans besieged our cities. We fought bravely, but we were vastly outnumbered. All our enemies could tap from the endless source of magic and they overpowered our defences.
We prayed to the gods for salvation, but they no longer answered.
We were slaughtered in great numbers, and our knowledge was lost in the smouldering ruins. One by one, our cities fell. Soon, the armies of men were at the gates of the Golden City itself. On the brink of its destruction, the last king of the Ancients and his guard transformed into dragons and fought the enemies in a last stand. His friend, the High Chancellor, took it upon himself to save the remnant of our civilization. He wrapped himself in the banners of our broken nations, and with a blazing sword in hand he led the survivor to the docks and escaped with our last ship.
His name was Prox, and he would be remembered as one of the Four Saints.
Guided by the red pillar of divine light, Prox sailed across the Frozen Sea and into the far north. Here our people found new land. A land of barren tundra—but a refuge from unending war nonetheless.
Prox and his allies, the Ancient Heroes, ventured further into the north to seek the source of magic itself. There, he performed a ritual and extinguished the light, while the sages Imil, Lalivero, and Contigo sealed off the remaining rifts. The divine lights, they all vanished from the sky that fateful night. The source of magic was sealed away for good, that fateful night.
I am Karst, Guardian of the Northern Light. The blood of the Ancients Heroes flows in my veins.
We don't know what powerful rituals the Saints performed to seal the rifts, but the entire world felt the source of magic being cut off. We no longer had limitless power, and our magic was instead drawn from our own life energies instead of the Source. It is said that entire armies decimated themselves from instant aftershock on their own. Only the Ancient Heroes, who had absorbed energy from the rifts before the sealing, were powerful enough to fight the remaining warlords and end the wars. Many had hoped they would usher in a new era of peace and prosperity, but they vanished without a trace at the end of the Age of Chaos.
Some believe they died in the last battle, defending the construction of the Elemental Lighthouses. Others say they retreated from the world and lived out their lives as ordinary people.
My people believe they joined the gods, leaving the world behind for us to protect. Legends say that when evil threatens Weyard again, they will return and aid us in battle.
To the outside world, the Elemental Lighthouses were monuments to remind us of what we'd lost—they were erected on locations were the divine lights used to be. But we know the towers are the final seals preventing humanity from ever touching the Source again. The seal had to be protected for all eternity, and Saint Prox chose us to guard the Northern Light. And in our vigil, we lost contact with the rest of the world.
Those civilizations that survived the Age of Chaos fell into decline without magic. My people declined too, as our culture used to be heavily reliant on our abilities to command nature to do our bidding. But under the guidance of Saint Prox, we adapted to our new life.
Once, we were scholars and mystics. Now we are hunters and warriors. Tempered by the cold, we have become masters of the north. With strength, valour, wisdom and faith, we have survived to this very day.
We no longer have a golden city. We have lost our great monuments and most of our knowledge of magic and technology had been buried with the ruins of Loho. We had been broken, but we did not give in to despair. Even though our connection to the source of magic—to Alchemy—had been severed, we retained the ability of wielding the Elements. Even today we are born with the gift of magic. Our magic—Psynergy—is our parting gift from the Saints. Unlike the gods, the Saints still watch over the world and guide us in our lives with their teachings.
I am Karst, Guardian of the Northern Light. Like my mother before me, I am a huntress by nature. The day I turned eight, I lifted a harpoon for the first time and took part in the whale hunts. Three years later, I made myself worthy to be named a member of the Order of Prox.
The order protects the people and honours the Saints. I was the youngest Guardian in a hundred years—the High Priest made an exception for me when I demonstrated my bravery and risked my life to save a friend from a wild bear. In the ceremony, when I was asked what facial markings I wanted to represent my virtues, I chose the Mark of Strength like my late mother. One day, I will be a revered warrior and leader like my mother was. One day, I too will be Captain of the Guardians of Prox.
My father was a healer and scholar, a seeker of knowledge. My elder sister, Menardi, proudly followed his footsteps, seeking truth above all. Her facial markings are those of Valour, as she believed it was our sense of honour that made us stand out from the lesser races.
I was eleven years old when Mother and Father left us behind. With a band of explorers, they left the city and sailed to the south in search for an Angaran city named "The Vale". It was the first time my people sought contact with the outside world after centuries of isolation. I didn't know the reason of my parents' leave, but they never returned. Menardi, my beloved sister, raised me since.
She was still a dutiful priestess when our parents left. Their disappearance changed her forever. Instead of becoming a priestess, she pursued a career as a Guardian. My sister excelled in everything she does, so she passed the entrance exams with flying colours and became a notable member of the Order of Prox quickly.
I have always admired my sister. Although I always thought she was better fit to heal the injured than leading patrol on the streets, I stood by her in every decision. Yet, I had sensed something wrong about her ever since she picked up a spear. She used to be content living a humble life—that was why she wanted to become a priestess to begin with, but now she seized every opportunity for promotion. Within three years she rose to the highest rank, becoming the elected leader of the city's fighting force; the position that took my mother two decades to reach.
But Captain Menardi wasn't happy. She laughed and drank with her friends and subordinates the evening she accepted her position, but I saw her joy was fake. She assured me she wanted to restore the family honour, but I sensed she was after something more.
I was right.
As Captain of the Guardians, the spell of unlocking the gate to the Mars Lighthouse was passed to Menardi. And one night, she used it to enter the ancient structure with the scholar Rhen.
When she returned that night, her face was dark, and she refused to speak to me. She didn't show up on duty either, locking herself up in her study for days—researching, as she claimed. When she finally let herself out, she went to the town hall to speak with the chief and the council. Two days later she left the city without a word.
The Order of Prox later told me she'd been given permission to leave the city to uncover our parents' fates. I fooled myself it was that simple, but deep down I knew there was more to it. I was convinced it was an authenticated journey—Chief Puelle told me so himself, but I feared my sister wasn't just looking for the truth, but also for revenge.
Menardi returned to the north months later, and almost all of her followers were gone. Thirty men had departed and only three made the journey home.
She went to raid an ancient temple guarded by another order established by the Saints and her warband was almost wiped out by the other orders' defences. The only ones who returned with her were Rhen the diviner and a nameless volunteer.
Menardi openly admitted to her crimes against the Saints. She took the blame upon herself to protect her accomplices. She confessed to the council she had been to the Mars Lighthouse and discovered Weyard's dreaded fate like our parents did. She said she wanted to ignite the Elemental Lighthouses. She said we had to bring Alchemy, the source of magic, back to the world.
My sister betrayed the Saints. My sister betrayed our people and our beliefs. She was stripped off her rank and kicked out of the Order of Prox. Chief Puelle talked the council out of exiling her though, stating that my sister had served our people well in the past. My sister's last words before the sentence was passed down still rings in my ears:
"Our ancestors signed up to protect the world, not to passively doom us all!"
In the next three years, my sister did community service as a healer. She had been dishonoured, but the fire in her soul burned brighter than ever. She never told me anything about it, but she plotted a new operation.
A month ago, Menardi turned on the Order of Prox. She gathered volunteers and struck the temple's vault at night. She stole the preserved magic ship that carried our ancestors to the north and used it to outrun the Guardians across the sea.
When I heard the call to arms, I took up the chase. I didn't care that my sister sailed a magic ship that defied the forces of water and wind. I just knew that I could not let her become an outlaw witch. I knew I had to bring her back to face justice. Our parents would have wanted it that way. Our parents would have wanted me to stay true to my principles, even if it meant facing Menardi in battle.
I couldn't catch her. I had to give up like the rest of the Guardians when we faced a maze of icebergs my sister somehow conjured up.
Back home, I finally broke into her room. On her desk was a wooden box addressed to the council. In it lay inscriptions she had copied off from a wall inside of the Mars Lighthouse. They revealed the disturbing truth of Weyard's decline:
The source of magic—Alchemy, sustained the world's foundations. Without it our world was crumbling and falling apart—Weyard would inevitably be destroyed.
When I was young, Mother told me to never paddle too far into the north, warning me about the Gaia Falls. They are endless waterfalls at the distant edge of the world. Beyond that point there was no return, she said. Beyond the falls was oblivion, she told me.
And it was to oblivion the continents of Weyard would drift if Alchemy wasn't restored.
In my sister's written testimony, she said she had seen the Gaia Falls from the top of Mars Lighthouse and that it was closer to us than we could imagine. She said if the council still stubbornly wanted to honour our ancestors' oaths of protecting the Seals of Alchemy, she would alone be a betrayer—she and her oathbreakers would make a difference and do what heroes should do.
My people were shocked when the terrifying revelation was made public. I too could not believe that the venerated Saint Prox's plan was to doom the world. So I scaled the Mars Lighthouse myself. I don't have my sister's scheming talents or patience to unlock the gates, even if the Order didn't try to stop me. But I have the fortitude to scale the Lighthouse's walls. Under the faded aurora at dusk, I hung on the side of the tower, nearly at the top. As I turned to the sea, I saw the Gaia Falls with my own eyes.
I am Karst of the Fire Clan. I descend from heroes of a forgotten age. The blood of the Ancients flows in my veins.
My ancestors dreamt of a hero that would restore our people's glory and lead us to reclaim the Golden City.
For centuries, no one had dared to rise to the call.
For almost a millenium, we've thought it was our destiny to protect the Mars Lighthouse here in the north.
Now, our hero has risen and it is time for us to make our own fates.
Menardi, my sister… I know you will succeed.
Author's Notes:
I've rewritten this story at least three times, and as of now, I've pretty much decided that this story can't be a called a "novelization" anymore, since you can only change so much until it becomes "alternative universe". "Adaptation" would be a better term.
The introduction chapter is basically all exposition and I chose to drop this huge backstory in the beginning mainly to give readers an idea of what to expect from the story.
In this prologue, I establish some fundamental concepts about magic and the pantheon. I realize most writers just make all the "summons" gods of Weyard but I will do thing differently. The beings that are summoned by the Djinn still exist in this version though (they known as the "Ancient Heroes").
How Alchemy was sealed and who the Saints are will be delivered in small portions throughout the story. My plan is to tell multiple tales and work with pararelling storylines so it's not just "The Adventures of Isaac and Felix" anymore.
And as the title and this first chapter suggests, Menardi and company won't be scumbag villains here. This is not that kind of story.
