Beyond the Stone
~o~
Darkness. His world was filled with it, his soul immersed in it; ever since the day that he had lost to a host of heroes and their armies. They had ringed him with their treasured artifacts and brought him low. He was cast into the night and left to slumber away the ages inside of his cage. For a long while he raged against the bars that held him captive, tried to shatter them with his power or bend them to his will.
Inevitably he failed.
And so he slept for centuries, until the day came that there was a weakening of the walls that bound him…
Magic woke him.
A stir of elder magic ghosted past his senses. The tendrils tasted uncertain, as though an inexperienced caster controlled the threads. But it was magic that he was intimately familiar with; in ages past, he had wielded such spells himself at the head of his own army. Whoever lay outside his prison was attempting to analyze its construction. Perhaps in time they could be persuaded to release him. If not, there were other more amusing uses for the elder spells.
A mind finally breached the barriers that held him fast and it was then that he learned the awful truth of that day: his soul had been sealed inside of one of the hated artifacts that the gods had given to the heroes of a previous age. Centuries had passed while he lay asleep in his prison and his captors had lived and died, leaving behind only their legend and the kingdoms that they bequeathed to their descendants.
Rage tore at his being, but he thrust it aside as the mind within the spell cast about with its queries. It wanted to know so many, many things. How to restore health to those that the priests could not heal and how to avert disasters that divination revealed.
He could use this human mind, if only it would come a little closer. If he could get it to bend the bars that held him, he might be able to cross the void and spend his influence there again. But first he had to see if the mind could hear his voice…
In that instant, the mind vanished and the demon soul within the stone howled with despair. How could he escape this hell if feeble human sorcerers could not hold their spells?
He should not have worried; the human behind the spell seeking was nothing if not persistent in his research. In time, the demon learned a name to go along with the taste.
Lyon. Heir to the throne of Grado.
Many months passed before he could speak to the wandering soul. But where he imparted knowledge, Lyon eagerly absorbed it. The child saved and saved and saved. Lost magic healed flesh and restored life deemed lost. Finally there was only one thing left to be done; avert the disaster that would eventually befall the Gradoan empire.
The human performed admirably. A crack appeared in his prison through which their communication continued unimpeded…
While he could not directly judge the effect of the magic himself, it seemed that his puppet was happy with the results. So much so, that instead of resting like a good mage should, Lyon was constantly using magic to study, pushing his mind and body to exhaustion.
It was in these moments of vulnerability that he managed to weave the spell.
The next time that puppet opened his eyes, it was the demon who stared down at his own prison. Slowly he smiled.
It was good to be outside again.